


Redemption

by Torun



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: 1970s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Contemporary history, F/M, Germany, London, Middle East, Poldark AU, Spy Fiction, Thriller, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 26,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6417373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torun/pseuds/Torun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's September, 1970, in Jordan, and Ross Poldark, an MI6 agent, is exposed and shot by PLO member. Demelza Carne, a nurse working for Oxfam/UNRWA, looking for casualties in the villages in the mountains north of Amman, takes him to be a wounded Fedayeen before his real identity is revealed. She finds herself pulled into the political war game, and both she and Ross are set on the road to Damascus, from where there's no return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiparker](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shiparker).



> Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my imagination. 
> 
> I decided (in a moment of blessed madness) to pick up a prompt Shiparker came up with a while back, one where Ross Poldark is an MI6 agent in the Middle East, and this is the result. 
> 
> Unless you're quite familiar with Middle East 20th century history, it may be a bit confusing. Many hours has gone into digging out useful information about actual events, organisations, countries, infrastructure, military operations, weaponry, important people and political shenanigans. I have been scrutinising documents, watching tons of film clips and documentaries, read books, been squinting at maps etc etc to write realistically. All of this I have condensed into an appendix where abbreviations, terms, people, places etc important for this story can be found. 
> 
> You find it here: [**(x)**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6446197)
> 
> Huge thanks to [mmmuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse) for being my beta!

Saturday September 19 th  1970 dawned sunny and dry, as it commonly did in the eastern Mediterranean at the end of summer. A man in his late twenties sat by a dry stone wall, his legs stretched out before him, dressed in mismatched army issue clothes, boots and a relatively clean keffiyeh loosely draped around his neck. Though he was English, he could pass as Palestinian with his general looks, his almost-black, curly hair, hazel eyes, and the ease with which his olive skin would darken in the sun.

His name was Ross Poldark, but it wasn't a name he currently used. He had been in Jordan for the past eight months, infiltrating local Fedayeen groups part of the PLO in order to provide his employer, MI6, with information about them. It had been surprisingly easy to feed everyone the story of his fortunate Palestinian father who had secured a good job in London, bringing his family with him. It neatly explained his accent when speaking Arabic, and other oddities that could come up.

Ross had woken up just before dawn to an agitated, Arabic voice on the radio relaying the latest information on what the US sea forces in the Mediterranean Sea were up to. While that situation was alarming, he was more concerned about the Syrian invasion of Jordan that had started the day before. He had picked up a simple radio receiver and gone out to where he now sat to keep an eye on the valley to the north and east. Not that he expected anything, to be honest, but it felt like he was doing something more productive than just sitting around waiting for any orders that surely had to come soon.

Scrubbing his hands over his face, he felt the stubble rasp over his palms and he sighed. He needed to shave. Throwing a quick look around him he decided it could wait a while. He pulled up the keffiyeh draped around his neck and started to tie it around his head, leaving only his eyes visible. To take a better look at the surroundings he climbed to his feet.

 _We should get out of here_ , he thought absently as he scanned the hills. It was dry and the ground longed for the winter rains and snow, but he quite liked the beige and deep greens, bordering on silver and brown. In the hazy, peach coloured morning light his imagination was tickled and it felt as if the present and the past were merging. It was easy to imagine Saladin's troops riding through the landscape surrounding him. The thought of Saladin caused him to turn his gaze northwards, in the direction of Damascus, the Syrian capital seventy miles to the north.

The Syrian border was not far away. The day before he had noted that the Jordanian troops previously engaged in hammering Irbid, were scrambling to meet this newly risen threat. Politically he should be opposed to the Syrian intervention, of course. It was expected of him, considering who he was and for whom he was working.

Personally, he didn't like General Assad, the commander of the Syrian forces, and he didn't trust the intention of the invasion. On the other hand, what he had witnessed lately left a sour taste in his mouth. It was one thing hitting the Fedayeen, but the Jordanian army was turning on the Palestinians as a group, no matter if they were Fedayeen or not. A bad situation was quickly becoming a nightmare.

A person with a quick stride approached and he smiled reluctantly before he turned. He knew that step. It was Laleh, a Fedayeen and a member of the organisation Fatah. Over the past months during the mounting tension in Jordan he had come to know her quite well, and she was certainly no delicate flower, no matter what her name suggested.

She was short, surprisingly strong and was a very good shot. Determined. Lethal. And heaven help him, Ross liked her a lot. Not in a way that Elizabeth, his fiancée, needed to worry about, but there was something appealing about such a competent person. He had learned long ago that he'd find some of the most tenacious fighters with the deepest conviction in the Palestinian groups he was infiltrating, and the most dedicated were often women.

One such woman was Laleh. They had worked a lot together lately, without her knowing who he really was, of course. She seemed to have swallowed his story and what he was doing here, and they had been getting along quite well. Deep down it irked Ross that he had to lie to her, but he had a job to do, he was going to do it and do it well.

Slowly he half-turned and watched her approaching. Her face was grim, and his smile faded and his eyes turned watchful at the sight. There was something agitated over her movements that he didn't like. She was usually rather calm, even though the past days had made her tense. It had made him tense too.

The Palestinian declaration of Irbid as liberated hadn't come wholly out of nowhere, particularly not after the PFLP hijackings that had put Zarqa on the world map and sparked fights in Amman over the hostages. They themselves had seen battle in and around Irbid and lives had been lost. It was never easy to lose people you knew, which she had done. For him it had meant he'd had to do things he really didn't want, but he'd had to, in order to not blow his cover.

He pulled down the keffiyeh covering the lower part of his face. “What's happening?” he asked and warily eyed the Kalashnikov she was carrying in her hands, and not on her back as she used to.

There was no hesitation as she pulled up her rifle, and he drew a steadying breath, forcing himself to not react. She stopped ten yards from him and held her Kalashnikov firmly aimed at him.

 _You're a dead man, Ross Poldark_. The thought flew through his head as he stared into her eyes, eyes the same colour as his own. This morning they looked whisky coloured, as the warm September sunlight lit up her face. Her keffiyeh was loosely wrapped around her head, mimicking the PFLP heroine Leila Khaled. Personally Ross thought Laleh pulled it off better, but he'd never dream of saying such a thing out loud. But the outward similarity to the Palestinian plane hijacker was a reminder of whom he was dealing with. She was not one to be lenient.

“Who are you?” she demanded in a very good English, with a hint of Oxford to it. He had never heard her speak anything but Arabic and suddenly confused, he wondered if she could be an agent just as he was. He discarded the idea immediately. He had too much confirmed information to know she was Fatah through and through. For a fraction of a second he considered replying in Arabic, but he decided it was better to stick to English since she had decided to use it.

“Roshdi, as you already know,” he replied calmly, the lie easily slipping over his lips.

Disappointment washed over her face, followed by anger and she lowered her rifle and fired. The loud crack heralded an explosive pain in his lower left leg and he lost his balance, and tumbled to the ground. Panic clawed through him as he realised that it was possible his real identity had been revealed to those he was working with. Rolling over on his back he held his hands so Laleh could see that he wasn't hiding any weapons. Staying alive was the most important thing in this situation, if it was at all possible. He had his doubt that he would.

She appeared above him, but she wasn't aiming the AK-47 at him, which took him by surprise.

“I'm asking you again, who are you?” The anger was gone and replaced by a cool business-like attitude.

Ross pressed his eyes shut and swallowed hard, struggling with the pain in his leg.

“Answer me!” She raised her voice and he could tell that the anger was still lurking under the calm surface. “What information have you given to the enemy?”

“I've not reported to the government in Amman,” he hissed. For once it was entirely true. He didn't, though his superiors might. He didn't know if they did. His information was supposed to be for the benefit of his government but anything was possible in these times.

“Liar!” The butt of the Kalashnikov hit him in the face, and he got a taste of early New Year's celebrations as fireworks erupted behind his closed eyelids.

“I've not... I grew up in England... I'm no Hashemite supporter.” He was slurring when he tried to speak, sticking to the story he had fed them. But it was also true. He was British, if not with the Palestinian roots he claimed to have, and he personally had little love for the Jordanian king. Always stay as close to the truth as you can, his instructor had told him at the very beginning of his service. It was easy to be caught up in a web of lies, unable to remember them all and eventually making a mistake. That was the lesson taught and one he had never forgotten, so he kept it simple and as truthful as he could.

She hissed at him but the anticipated death still did not come. The radio scraped to life and a panic-stricken voice shouted out news of the Syrian advancement in Arabic. Ross opened his eyes and looked blearily up at Laleh whose attention was on the radio as she listened. The tension in her face made her chin and cheekbones seem sharper somehow.

He slowly rolled his head to the side to look at the radio. This was the news he had been waiting for. If this continued they'd all be caught in the melee some time during the day, something he really wasn't interested in. When the radio went silent he decided to talk. Anything to keep himself alive, he decided.

“I don't trust their intentions, the Syrians.” He swallowed, his mouth and throat suddenly dry. “And I don't trust America and Israel to stay out of it. We should stay back,” he wheezed.

“I'm not taking advice from a spy,” Laleh countered coldly.

He winced as he realised she actually did know his true identity and there was no point in continuing to keep up the charade. “No, because someone working with intelligence can't give a realistic assessment of the situation at hand,” he retorted sarcastically.

“They also spread misinformation.”

He slowly turned his head back to look at her. “Why would I lie at death's door and fill you with false hope? Because that's what this is. Aside from the fact that General Assad is a strategic idiot with his own agenda, the Syrians will never be allowed to push deep into Jordan and aid you.” He paused, winced and breathed for a few moments.

“I'm sorry Laleh, but that's not going to happen. The Hashemites has Britain's ear, and with it NATO’s. You're pawns in the Cold War game and that's what controls your destiny.”

The frantic voice came back on the radio and they both shot glares at it. When it was cut off mid-sentence Ross could hear a faint noise he would forever recognise after his time here – the sound of shelling.

“Go on and shoot me, if that's what you came for. Then leave,” he snapped irritably.

To his great surprise he saw her sling the rifle on her back, sink down by his side and reach out, grab his arm and pull it over her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” he demanded as she heaved him up to a sitting position. Bracing herself, she prepared to push off the ground, pulling him along. “I can't walk!” he protested.

“You walk or you die,” she growled as she stumbled under his weight.

Ross couldn't contain his distress as she hauled him to his feet. “You should not try to save me,” he protested and bit his tongue as he tried to stand on the leg she had put her bullet into. He couldn't do it. They wouldn't get very far like this, he realised. She couldn't drag him for more than a few hundred yards at the most.

“This is insane, Laleh,” he breathed as cold sweat broke out all over his body.

“Shut up and move,” was her clipped response.

Every step was torture. Somehow, he managed to hobble along with her more or less lugging him in the direction of the scattered and empty houses nearby. She breathed heavily with a half-open mouth and a furious look on her face as she half-carried him across the debris-filled and dusty village street. He didn't continue to pressure her to explain why she hauled him along like this. If she was determined to keep him alive he wasn't going to drain her strength. He had no death wish after all.

Looking down at his injured leg he concluded that he was bleeding, which was hardly surprising. He wasn't in imminent danger, but something would have to be done about it soon. As they rounded the corner of a recently ruined house he spotted their Land Rover, converted to a military vehicle and at one point liberated from some unfortunate Jordanian soldiers.

The two young men in their company, Sabir and Naji, were nervously waiting next to it. When they caught sight of Laleh and Ross, Sabir jumped into the driver's seat and started the jeep while Naji sprinted towards them, catching Ross' other arm over his shoulders. The pace quickened significantly and Ross couldn't keep up. Laleh and Naji didn't mind his stumbles, just proceeded to get to the car as quickly as possible.

Laleh let go of Ross as they reached the jeep and climbed into the back of it, and together she and Naji pulled and lifted Ross into it. The second Naji was in the jeep too they took off in a cloud of dust. Laleh lost her balance and fell over Ross' leg as Sabir sped around a bend in the road. Ross cried out in pain. She pushed herself up again and took a closer look at the wound she had caused with the rifle on her back. Without hesitation she reached for Naji's shoulder, shaking him resolutely.

“Your keffiyeh!” she demanded in Arabic. Without question he tugged it loose and handed it to her and she quickly turned back to Ross' leg. Pulling a small knife from her boot she cut up the trouser leg, exposing the wound. She unlaced his boot and yanked it off without consideration to any pain it might cause, then she quickly made an impromptu tourniquet by using the keffiyeh and the knife.

Crawling over his uninjured leg she hoisted up his injured limb on the wheelhouse next to them, and wrapped the injury tightly with her own keffiyeh. She ripped off her jacket, rolled it up and tucked it under his leg so the injury wouldn't touch the wheelhouse. That done, she sat back to find the most comfortable position to allow her to hold his leg in place and apply pressure to his wound. Ross found himself awkwardly propped up against the front seat with Laleh between his legs, keeping his limb as still as she could manage.

“Why?” he finally demanded once he could breathe relatively normal again. “Why not kill me?”

She looked over at him for a brief moment before she returned her attention to his leg, checking the tourniquet.

“You're more of use to us alive than dead.” She threw him another glance. “You're not doing us any harm now when we know and can put an end to your activity, and you may know a thing or two of use to us. Besides, we have comrades we want back. You should be worth one or two, maybe even more. But perhaps we should just kick you back into Israel.” She smirked at him.

“I'm not setting my foot in Is—argh!” he growled as she shifted her grip and went quiet. He'd have to convince them somehow to not dump him in the Golan heights or some other place under Israeli control. His orders were clear: he was to stay out of Israel and go silent if something went wrong, then go to Lebanon and find a contact there. _Well, good luck with that_ , he thought sourly.

“If you have anything interesting to say, speak up, otherwise shut up,” she said coolly. Ross realised she had deliberately moved her fingers to increase the pain and shut him up.

“Where are we going?” he asked and turned to look at the mountainous landscape they were driving through.

“We're going to Ajloun,” Naji replied in English with a heavy accent.

Ross didn't bother to comment. It was going to be an uncomfortable and dusty journey that would take several hours on these roads. Or roads – more like paths only suited for donkeys. Something touched his shoulder and he turned his head, and his eyes landed on a military issue water bottle held at him.

“You've lost blood. You need to drink,” Naji told him, in Arabic now.

Clumsily Ross took the bottle and drank.

“Shukran,” he said quietly, glancing over his shoulder. Naji nodded and returned his focus on the road ahead.

…

Demelza Carne took a break to stretch her back and drink some water. The midday heat was oppressive even this late in the season and she was damp with sweat because of it. It was tempting to douse herself with the content in the bottle, but it would be a waste of precious water. She leaned against the wall of the building she had turned into a clinic for the day and closed her eyes, enjoying the shade and the slight wind stirring the stray hairs that escaped the French braid keeping her unruly copper-red hair in check.

She had arrived in Jordan six months earlier, eighteen years old, with a diploma as a nurse and just over eight months of service within the NHS. After a nervous start, she had quickly adapted to the conditions and her confidence had grown. Before she left London, she had wondered if going abroad and working for a help organisation really would suit her. By now she knew it had been the right decision. It was difficult at times, but her work was appreciated and she made a difference.

In spring she had celebrated her nineteenth birthday, but no one had known. Almost everyone was older than she, not least the doctors. Most of them she found intimidating, but a certain Dwight Enys had turned out to be a colleague she quite enjoyed working with. He seemed to find her expertise valuable too as he often asked for her when he went to visit the various refugee camps in Jordan.

They’d had split up that day to reach more people and hopefully catch injured individuals on the move after the last days' military offensive. As many refugee camps were unsafe they had instead opted for neighbouring villages in the mountains north of Amman, where there was a strong PLO presence. Should either of them come across an emergency they could easily relocate to treat the patient together. There had been grumblings from the headquarters in Amman that it was inadvisable to leave the clearly marked facilities set up by UNRWA, but there were a few who ignored this and went anyway. She and Dwight were two of them.

So far this day there had been nothing of significance happening though, and she was debating with herself if she should find Dwight before the sun went down. She was not keen on travelling after dark. The roads were in a poor state, not to mention that there were the troop movements in the area, both government and Fedayeen. She had no wish to end up in someone's cross-hair.

An unknown and tense voice with a heavy accent to his English pulled her out of her musings. “Miss nurse, we need your help.”

She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at the owner of the voice. It was a young man who had spoken. She guessed he was only twenty years old by the look of it and Fedayeen after giving him a once over.

She nodded, pushed herself from the wall and indicated for him to lead the way. They turned the corner to the street where a Jordanian military vehicle, a jeep, was parked. A young woman, also clearly Fedayeen, sat in the back and was holding a firm grip on a leg perched on the wheelhouse next to her. The leg had been emergency bandaged with a keffiyeh soaked through with blood. The young woman's hands and front were blood stained as well.

The owner of the leg lay on his side, curved around the young woman’s body to fit into the small space. Another Fedayeen, she thought as she cast a brief look at his face. Most of it was covered by the standard keffiyeh but she could see what skin appeared was fairly pale under the dust. He was not in a good shape and she wondered how long they had been driving to get to this village.

“He's been shot,” the young woman said with a detached voice and indifference to the young man. Her English was excellent. She could be British, for all Demelza knew.

“Get him inside,” Demelza said, turning to the group of curious male villagers who had brought chairs to sit outside the building to keep an eye on things. She asked for help with the stretcher she had brought with her. Two of the young men jumped up and volunteered.

She didn't wait for them to unload her new patient and moved indoors. No matter if she could handle the situation on her own or not, she would have to examine him, and she had to prepare him for treatment. He had been shot though. In this nook in the world a rifle, the Kalashnikov, usually caused such wounds and if that were the case she wouldn't be able to deal with the injury on her own. She quickly decided she needed Dwight to come over.

“Qabil!” she called out sharply and a head promptly appeared through a door. This head belonged to her interpreter and driver, a man with an impeccable moustache and an unshakeable composure.

“Yes, miss?” Qabil calmly replied.

“Dr Enys needs to come over. We have a gunshot wound coming in. Will you call him, please?”

“We have a radio,” the young woman who had been holding the injured man's leg said behind Demelza.

Demelza turned around, somewhat startled. “Thank you for the offer, but we have one too. He’s just a few miles from here, in the neighbouring village.”

The other woman nodded and began turning to leave, but Demelza caught her arm. “If you don't mind... I need you to tell me all about this situation. I could use help with the Arabic too. I'm not that good at it yet,” she explained apologetically. “I'm Demelza Carne by the way. But please, call me Demelza,” As she took in the woman in question, dusty military garments, cropped hair and all, she gave her a slight close-lipped smile of reassurance.

“Laleh,” the woman replied after a moment of hesitation.

Demelza saw the stretcher coming in and gently ushered Laleh to the side to let it through.

“The room farthest to the left, thank you!” she said and followed the two men carrying the patient. Laleh called out the instruction in Arabic, and Demelza threw a surprised glance over her shoulder at Laleh.

“Thank you,” she said with a wider smile. Laleh inclined her head in response.

The injured man was transferred to a cot and Demelza went over to the sink to wash herself. With gloves on, she turned her attention to her patient on the cot.

“So tell me what happened,” she prompted Laleh as she began to unwrap the keffiyeh to take a look at the wound.

“He's been shot in the leg with an AK-47,” Laleh replied matter-of-factly. “We've been driving here from just north east of Irbid during the morning,”

“Why on earth did you drive this far? Why not take him to Irbid?” Demelza asked and darted a quick look at Laleh. When she didn't give an answer, Demelza's focus went back to the injury. She pressed her lips into a thin line when she saw the damage.

This was far beyond her capabilities, she realised and she was glad she had already made the decision to ask Dwight to come. However, they would need a better place to operate in, preferably not too far away. This man had already been on an exhausting journey. He didn't need more of the same.

“He's got a head wound, too,” Laleh pointed out and loosened the keffiyeh for Demelza to see.

Demelza arched an eyebrow as she saw it. A blunt and heavy object had hit him at the side of his face, something that had narrowly missed his eye. It needed stitches but she could manage while they waited for Dwight to arrive. He needed fluids, pain relief, antibiotics and probably blood, and with a quick stride she went to the open door and called for an IV stand. As Qabil answered, she hurried back to the patient and picked up a pair of scissors to cut away his sleeve.

“Has he been out for a long time?” she asked as she applied the IV needle and secured it with tape. The stand arrived, carried by Qabil, and she hung a bottle with fluids on it and connected the bottle and the IV needle.

“Dr Enys is apparently making a house call outside the village but he'll call back as soon as they get hold of him,” Qabil informed her and then left.

Laleh watched Demelza, waiting for a good moment to answer the question. “He dozed off a while ago. Half an hour or so. We have kept him as hydrated as we could until then,” she said when Demelza finally spared her a look.

Demelza checked the speed of the drip and then picked up a bottle with morphine, prepared a syringe and gave him the shot. “Do you know anything about his medical history?” she asked.

Laleh shook her head. “He's English,” she said.

Demelza paused and looked up at Laleh, then turned to take a closer look at the man on the cot.

“We call him Roshdi, but it's not his real name.” At Demelza's frown she continued, “We learned this morning that he's working for the British. He's a spy.”

“I suppose that's why he has the injuries he has,” Demelza said, carefully keeping her voice neutral.

Laleh nodded. “I had orders to get him to speak and confirm our report. After some persuasion he did.”

“Are you planning on killing him when you're done with him?” Demelza asked disapprovingly.

“Not unless he's trying to harm anyone or is attempting sabotage. He's not of any value to us if he's dead.”

Demelza nodded in relief.

The man on the cot was stirring, mumbling incoherently, and before he was truly conscious he was trying to climb out of the cot. Both Laleh and Demelza quickly moved to push him down and hold him in place.

“Please stay still,” Demelza ordered. “You have a serious wound in your leg and I need to stitch an injury to your face. We will be joined by a surgeon shortly who will take a look at you.”

He groaned and tried to focus his eyes on her. “I'm giving you fluids and pain relief but it will take a few minutes for the morphine to have an effect,” Demelza continued. “If you're feeling a cold sensation in your scalp you know it's coming.”

“Who are you?” he groaned.

“I'm Demelza Carne, and I'm a nurse working for Oxfam under the auspices of UNRWA. You are in a village just north of Ajloun. And you are?” she casually asked, glad to see that he seemed relatively calm and coherent.

When Demelza had started to talk, Laleh had stepped back and out of his field of vision. His eyes flickered around as if he was searching for someone, most likely her.

“I was taken here. Laleh...” he managed.

“Yes you were. Don't worry about them now.” She glanced up at Laleh who was closely observing what Demelza was doing. “I need to know what to call you. If you could tell me something about your medical history that would be useful, too.”

“My name is Ross Poldark, and I'm a special agent working for MI6. I have had every inoculation you can imagine and then some, and as far as I know I'm not sensitive to any medication. I have no health issues.” He spoke quietly and paused after every sentence but didn't slur.

“Well Mr Poldark, it's fortunate you're otherwise healthy because this will not be an easy recovery,” she said and started to prepare for stitching up the injury to his face. It would leave a scar no matter how neatly she worked, she thought absently.

“Ross... will do. The others call me Roshdi.”

A movement in the corner of Demelza's eye made her direct her attention to Laleh again, though as surreptitiously as possible. Laleh had an odd look on her face that Demelza couldn't interpret. She was grave and her hazel eyes were a million miles away.

Demelza worked quickly, applying local anaesthetic to the facial injury, cleaning it up and putting in stitches. As she was tying the knot to the last stitch, she heard Naji speak by the door in Arabic, and she caught him hesitantly standing on the threshold, his eyes flickering between her and Laleh.

“The doctor is located. Qabil has left to pick him up,” Laleh relayed in English.

Ross flinched at the sound of her voice. “Please don't move,” Demelza told him. He stilled but swallowed hard, staring straight ahead at the ceiling.

“Laleh, you're here,” he said quietly.

“I am,” Laleh confirmed.

“You knew my name, didn't you?” he murmured and closed his eyes.

“Yes,” Laleh replied stiffly.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

Laleh didn't offer any comment but turned to stare out through the window instead. Naji stayed in the doorway, studying Ross and Demelza as she finished up and gave him a shot of antibiotics.

“I'm done for now,” she announced as she was packing up her portable kit. Ross opened his eyes and gave her a dull, heavy-lidded look. “We're waiting for the doctor. Once he has taken a look at you we will determine what the next step will be, all right?”

“I'm not going anywhere,” he rasped.

She couldn't help smiling slightly at the dry humour. “Tell me if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” he managed and closed his eyes.

“You rest now. Dr. Enys will arrive shortly.” Demelza looked up at Laleh. “We must move him. Though Dr Enys has equipment for field surgery, it would be best to move him to a better-suited location. Preferably nearby, like in Aljoun. There is a medical facility there I hope we can use. We don't have any transport though.”

Laleh nodded but didn't take her eyes off the window. “Naji, you heard?” she asked in Arabic, and he confirmed he had understood. “Find us something,” she continued quietly. Naji nodded and disappeared.

“I'll see if I can reach the clinic in Aljoun while we're waiting. I take it you'll remain here?” Demelza said.

Laleh nodded, and Demelza stood and left the room.

…

Dwight showed up as the sun sank slowly towards the horizon, drenching everything in a warm and light and bringing out the earthy, late-summer colours in the landscape. From time to time Demelza had gone back to make certain her patient was stable, even if she was quite sure Laleh would sound the alarm if his condition changed. He had been awake most of the time, but silent. Laleh had kept her vigil, equally quiet. It wasn't a hostile situation though, which surprised Demelza. She had expected it to be a lot frostier considering who this Ross Poldark was.

She briefed Dwight on her observations as they entered the building. After a short introduction he examined the patient.

“You have been fortunate, considering the situation,” Dwight concluded, directing himself to his patient. “It looks like it's mostly soft tissue damage.” He aimed his eyes at Demelza and continued, “I would prefer a properly equipped facility to operate in. It's still a very serious injury after all.”

“I suspected you would and I have been in contact with a clinic in Ajloun. They are prepared to help us,” Demelza told him.

“We have organised a transport with one of our own vehicles,” Laleh cut in. “We will make certain you get there safely.”

He looked at Laleh and then turned his eyes to Demelza, raising his eyebrows in question.

“They consider him a prisoner,” Demelza explained quietly. “He's apparently an infiltrator, working for MI6.”

Dwight didn't look too surprised when he faced Laleh. “Tell me, what are you planning once the immediate crisis is over? I can patch him up, but that's just the beginning of a long process. He'll need professional care for a considerable time if he's to walk again.”

“I can't answer that,” Laleh said, defiantly meeting the doctor's steady gaze. “I'm not the one making the decisions concerning him.”

Dwight nodded slowly. “Well, first things first. I need to talk to the staff at the clinic before we leave.”

“Qabil has the number,” Demelza said.

With a slight smile Dwight gave her a quick nod and then left the room. Laleh followed him, probably to keep an eye on the developments. Naji remained, gradually relaxing.

“Long day?” Demelza asked as she took another look at the IV.

A faint smile flashed over Naji's face. “Many days,” he replied.

She nodded thoughtfully and glanced down at Ross and caught his unnervingly wide and dark stare. His eyes were a bit glossy from the pain medication, adding to the unnatural gaze.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Hot. A bit muddled.”

“The dose I gave you was fairly high, so it's to be expected. The heat I can't do much about, I'm afraid. Need to pee yet?”

A faint rose tint spread over his cheeks and his eyes drifted to a point next to her.

“You will get a catheter once we can operate, but here we need to solve it in a more primitive way. At least until we're at the clinic. It's a positive thing if you can pee,” she said, trying to sound encouraging.

Ross shook his head, looking uncomfortable. “No, not yet,” he said, not quite looking at her. Naji smirked at them but didn't say anything.

“Please tell me if you need to. You won't be able to stand up for quite some time so you will need help.” She was quite sincere, ignoring Naji's poorly hidden amusement, doing her best to relay that this was no laughing matter at all. He glanced at her and nodded. Demelza decided she wouldn't tell him that she would be the one putting in the catheter before the operation. He seemed uncomfortable enough as it was.

“Unfortunately I don't have any bedpans with me, but I'll scrounge up something fitting, a bottle, a pitcher or some such.” She smiled politely and left the room with a determined stride to find a suitable replacement for a bedpan.

A minute later, she came back with a plastic pitcher in her hand and placed it next to one of her bags. She disappeared from the room again, this time to quickly pack up the last of her equipment and bring it outside for the transport.

For a moment she stopped and watched the sunset between the houses. It would be a treacherous drive through the darkness, she mused.

A battered military lorry came up the street as Laleh and Dwight came out of the building. The transport, Demelza surmised and hurried towards the door. Laleh stopped her by catching her arm.

“Qabil had better stay here. We want to attract as little attention as possible and we shouldn't bring another vehicle along. We can contact him once you are finished.”

Demelza darted a look at Dwight.

“I think it's best to take their advice,” he said quietly, squinting against the light to watch the approaching vehicle.

Demelza reluctantly met Laleh's eyes. “I'll tell him.”

“Hurry, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we arrive in Aljoun,” Laleh urged.

With a nod Demelza hastened inside.

The journey turned out to be as treacherous as she had predicted. Fortunately, the lorry that had been acquired was covered and they had a lantern for some faint light, but the road was bad and their speed had to be kept down. Demelza was on the floor next to the patient, by his head, holding the bottle with the fluids they were administering. The rest of the passengers sat on the benches along the sides, among them Dwight, but also Laleh, Naji and a third young man whose name she’d forgotten.

Ross was awake, often aiming his gaze, dulled with morphine, at her but he didn't try to speak. She didn't really know what to say to him either, and a hushed conversation was impossible due to the noise level.

They hit a particularly rough bit of road and slowed to a snail's pace. Despite this they were jostled around. She quickly clamped down across Ross with her forearm over his chest, tightly gripping his upper arm. Dwight slipped down from the seat and did a similar thing, steadying Ross' legs. Their eyes met and he gave her an encouraging smile.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand clutched at her wrist. When she looked down at Ross she could tell he wasn't doing well. The tightness of his grip spoke of the agony he was in. Sweat had broken out on his forehead and his eyes had a shine to them she didn't like. She quickly turned her eyes to Dwight to alert him but he was already studying Ross as closely as he could.

He turned around to Laleh.

“How much longer do you reckon this will take?” he asked.

Laleh had been watching them with a tense look on her face Demelza realised when she too turned her attention to the female Fedayeen. Before Laleh answered, she quickly shot a look at the dark night outside, and to Demelza's surprise a slight shift in her face suggested relief.

“We should be there within minutes. I can see lights,” she replied and turned her gaze to the man on his back being held in place by Demelza and Dwight.

Dwight gave Laleh a sharp nod. “I hope it's sooner rather than later,” he said and returned his attention to his patient.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my imagination. 
> 
> The appendix to this story can be found it here: [**(x)**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6446197)
> 
> Huge thanks to [mmmuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse) for being my beta!

Demelza sat on the flat roof of the clinic facing the oncoming dawn. She should sleep, but although her eyes were gritty and her body felt like lead, she was strangely alert. The night had been a very long one and filled with work. Satisfactory work in the end, as it turned out. She and Dwight worked well together and the operation had been successful. If there were no complications their patient should recover and be able to use his leg and foot. _How_ well was anyone's guess at this point.

She wasn't alone up here. A few yards to her left sat Laleh, still with her Kalashnikov on her back. Demelza smiled slightly as she studied the other woman out of the corner of her eye.

“You're smiling,” Laleh said and turned to face Demelza.

“It's dawn on a new day,” Demelza replied. We've saved a man's life and we've made certain he will walk again. Not a bad way to start a day.”

Laleh nodded. “There's fighting around Irbid and Amman,” she said, changing the subject. Her gaze met Demelza's questioning eyes as she continued. “We expect the Syrian army to take Irbid today. They will continue their advancement once it is taken.” There was a triumphant note in her voice as she spoke.

Demelza frowned at these news. “Dr. Enys and I will have to leave if there's a risk of getting caught in any fighting,” she said, keeping her voice carefully neutral. “It's definitely not safe for our patient, either.”

“I'm afraid we can't let you go,” Laleh said coolly. “We can't risk you or Dr. Enys handing any information to the Hashemite government or the Britons. I'm sure you understand the situation with Roshdi.”

Demelza arched her eyebrows at Laleh's use of Mr. Poldark's false name, but then reality caught up with her as the woman’s words sunk in. She drew a deep breath as an icy clump started forming in her belly. “You're forcing us to stay?”

Laleh shrugged. “You have no means of leaving and we will not provide any. I doubt you are interested in trying to leave either.” Laleh swept her hand at the mountainous surroundings.

Without being familiar with the area, with no maps, and Fedayeen, Jordanian and Syrian troops in the vicinity, and no experience to traverse this kind of terrain, it would be foolish to even contemplate getting out of there.

“Naturally we won't allow you to communicate with anyone either.” Laleh added. “If you run...”

Demelza's eyes went to Laleh's rifle sticking up over her shoulder. “No, I know all too well what happens if one of those AK-47 rifles are used on a human being,” she retorted shortly.

“I'm glad we understand each other.”

Demelza snorted at the absurd situation but didn't say anything else. There was no point. She wasn't overly concerned about being held hostage in the hands of the Fedayeen as such, but she didn't enjoy the prospects of ending up in a crossfire, which was a real risk.

They sat quietly and watched the sun send its first rays over the landscape, and the town coming to life around them.

“I'm going inside,” Demelza announced and stiffly started to climb to her feet. Laleh rose wordlessly too. Demelza paused and turned towards Laleh.

“Is there any possibility for us to at least send a message, explaining that we're detained? Just so that people don't think we've been killed. I don't need to talk to anyone personally. Just a message.”

Laleh hesitated. “I can't promise anything,” she finally said.

Demelza heard the tone in Laleh's voice which told her that it was unlikely. She nodded and slowly began walking towards the stairs. There was little she could do but accept the situation the way it was.

...

It was fairly quiet when Ross woke. As he opened his eyes, memories from the last day or so flooded his mind. The surgeon who had operated told him things had gone as well as he could expect. This was only a start, but with time he should be on his feet. He had taken an immediate liking to Dr. Enys. Calm and understated, but still with a sense of humour. He appeared to be about the same age as himself.

Scanning the room he found it empty, which surprised him. Not that he could go anywhere, but still. Looking to his side he noticed call button he could reach on the panel of his bedside railing if he needed assistance. He turned his head to look around the room again and sighed. All he could do now was wait. He could already feel boredom setting in.

Ajloun, he thought. They were in Ajloun. He looked through the nearest window and concluded it was either morning or evening. With no one to talk to and nothing to do, he tried to settle into some kind of meditative state. This was somewhat difficult to achieve since his mind felt scattered. Looking up at the bottles on the rack next to his bed, he guessed there was something numbing the pain in one of them, which also affected him in other ways.

The door to the room opened and a nurse stepped inside, and the sight made him smile involuntarily, because it was an unexpected, familiar face. She was the one who had taken care of him in the village and continued to work with Dr. Enys.

He racked his brain for a moment in an effort to remember her name. It had been a bit odd, he thought, because both the doctor and the nurse used titles when talking to others, but were on first name terms with each other. Between them there was a familiarity that was unusual in the hierarchical healthcare profession. Ross was curious. Were they a couple? Difficult to say, he surmised.

“Mr. Poldark,” she greeted him and smiled slightly.

He noticed her insistence on maintaining a professional demeanour with him, despite his earlier request to call him by his first name. However, he had meant his request. It was a principle he stuck to if he could, to do away with barriers between him and others. He was well aware of the privilege he had been born to and he had no wish to rub people's faces in that fact.

“Ross. Please,” he replied with a scratchy voice, repeating his request.

The nurse smiled politely again and gave him a nod. She was apparently not quite convinced. Not yet. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused, mostly,” he sighed. “Not so much in pain.”

She quickly looked him over and checked his blood pressure, then made notes of what she found.

“What time is it?” he asked, glancing at the window again.

“It's six in the evening. Considering the situation we have allowed you to catch up on sleep.” She made a face. “We needed the rest too, to be honest.”

He nodded and then frowned. “I expected someone to keep an eye on me in the room,” he admitted and looked at the door.

“You're not going anywhere anytime soon so there's little need of that. You're being looked after in regular intervals too.”

“I'm assuming the ones I arrived with are still here.” Of course they were. They wouldn't let go of him now, but he wanted to establish where they were and how much control they had over the situation.

She stiffened and her eyes flickered away from him. “Yes, they are.”

He noticed her voice was just a little strained.

“Is anything amiss?” he asked, studying her closely. He had not been the most clear-headed during the hours after he was shot, but he hadn't picked up on any resentment or prejudice on her part before.

“You could say that.” She squared her shoulders and raised her gaze to look him in the eye. “Dr. Enys and I are being prevented from leaving. We are being detained along with you. We haven't even been allowed to send a message.”

Guilt hit him like a hammer. “I'm sorry,” he breathed.

“Well, you didn't make the decision.” She sighed and sank down on a chair next to his bed. “They won't let us leave because they fear we would give away information about them. And, I suspect, we're useful to keep around too. They are expecting fighting in the area.”

“I believe so too,” he agreed ruefully.

She raised her chin and put on a cheerful face. “I suppose we should look at it from the bright side. You will have the care you need for some time now which will increase your chances of making a good recovery.”

He stared at her in disbelief and she shrugged.

“It could be interesting. A bit less structured than working for Oxfam and the UN. More of a challenge I reckon. And it's not like I have an extensive social life in Amman I will miss.”

Shaking his head, he involuntarily chuckled. “I can see why you decided to go abroad, working for help organisations.”

An enigmatic smile curved her lips and he felt like he clearly didn't have the full picture as to why she had decided to devote part of her life to this.

“Since you insist on us using your first name, in this situation we should perhaps return the favour. I know Dwight will agree with me on this. Please call me Demelza.”

He smiled, a little relieved that she wouldn't insist on formality. “Thank you.”

“Poldark,” she continued hesitantly. “You're not related to the Poldark family owning steel works, are you?”

With a sigh he nodded. “I am.” He saw her eyes widen and he suppressed a wince. “It's my uncle who's the major shareholder in PKN Steel Company. I have decided to not work for the company.”

“No, you wouldn't be here if you were,” she said dryly and nodded at his leg.

He snorted. “You're quite right about that.”

She considered him for a moment and Ross wondered what was behind those eyes of hers. What she was thinking? She clearly knew about the company, which – if he was to be honest – surprised him a little. While part of the company had been nationalised a few years back, it was uncommon for someone so young to care much about mining and steel production. He suspected she had a personal connection to the company in some way or another.

“Demelza, where are you from?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.

“Oh, um, Islington. But Dad is originally from Cornwall. Worked in West Midlands, Darlaston, just north or Birmingham, and then... he and Mum moved to London.” Her eyes settled on a spot just next to him as she revealed her background.

“Darlaston, you say.” He noticed she wouldn't meet his eyes now. Yes, she had a family connection to the company his uncle owned – he was sure of it. The company was the main employer in Darleston after all.

“What a coincidence,” he said lightly. “My family is originally from Cornwall too. My ancestors left long ago though.” He pretended not to notice the tension around her mouth.

“The family relocation to London was my grandfather's idea, as the company grew out of its Midland's costume, largely due to the Great War. There's a great need for steel, nuts and bolts during a war.” He sighed again. There was always profit to be made on wars. Blood money, he had always thought.

“As I understand it, my grandmother was quite keen on the social life too, so that could have something to do with it too.” He smirked. “Coinciding interests, I suppose.”

Demelza finally met his eyes and he smiled warmly at her. “It's complicated, but I have chosen to do things my own way.”

“Is that why you insist on your first name? Because you want to separate yourself from the company?” she asked, and angled her head slightly, aiming a curious glance at him.

“It's part of it. But I'm no friend of protocol and social hierarchies either.”

Demelza nodded, looking amused. “I think you and Dwight will get along splendidly,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow at that and she smiled knowingly in return.

“You'll see. Now, are you hungry?”

He looked down and was instantly aware of a gnawing feeling in his belly. “I think so, yes,” he replied, slightly surprised that he had not reacted to it before Demelza asked.

“I'll see what can be arranged. I'll let Dwight know you're awake. He'll probably want to look in on you as well.” She rose from the chair and left the room.

He stared at the open door. Because of him, two people were now held hostage, two people who were dedicating their lives to helping the very people who now held them captive. He felt guilt but he was also angry. This was not the way to deal with the situation. More hostages wouldn't change anything. He groaned and rubbed his hands over his right side of the face, but stopped when he heard a slight sound from the door. He removed his hand and found that Laleh stood on the threshold, her arms crossed over her chest. For a moment, they stared at each other laden with unspoken accusations.

“It's wrong,” Ross blurted.

“I'm not asking for your opinion.” Laleh's looked at him with a cool disapproving face.

“You'll get it anyway. They are risking their lives for your people. For those who is getting in the way of this escalating violence. Taking relief workers hostage is not going to do any good at all.”

“Don't say that. It will do you a lot of good,” she retorted tartly.

“I'm not that selfish,” he snapped.

She unfolded her arms and slowly moved into the room, glaring at him. “Climb down from your ivory tower. You, of all people, have no right to pass judgement.”

Ross clenched his teeth and turned his eyes to the window and the growing twilight outside.

“Do you have any idea how angry I am?” she asked, her voice thick with emotions. “I trusted you. I backed you in everything. I can't even call you a traitor because you're not...” She bit her lower lip to the point of almost drawing blood.

“I want to hate you,” she added.

Ross didn't say anything. What was there to say? He had done his job. It had been to the disadvantage of the Fedayeen, this couldn't be disputed. That she should be angry about that was hardly unexpected. He couldn't help but feeling shame though. They weren't as different as she might think in this moment, and he had genuinely liked her. As she had liked him, quite clearly.

 _Why am I doing this?_ he asked himself. The doubt he was constantly fighting dug its claws into him again. How tempting it would be to just... stop. Change sides was perhaps too big a step, but it _had_ occurred to him on occasion. What held him back was the fact that he didn't agree with many of the decisions made. They were as idealistic as they were unrealistic.

He had ideals himself, certainly, but he was also a practical man. Some things were doomed to fail and he would not be able to keep his thoughts to himself if he truly got involved. There was also all the things he'd lose if he did leave, disappear or change sides: his home, his family, Elizabeth... He closed his eyes. No, it was just the backside of this kind of work, hurting people. He had made a choice. Throwing it over now would be folly.

A knock on the door frame brought his attention back to the door, where the surgeon stood, watching them carefully.

“I just came to see how you were doing, Mr. Poldark,” he said, his voice neutral. “I hope I'm not interrupting?”

Laleh glared at Ross. “No doctor. Not at all,” was her frosty reply.

Dwight nodded and came inside. “Now. Tell me how you're doing,” he said, focusing his attention on Ross.

Repressing a sigh, Ross glanced at Laleh. “I'm fine, thank you. Please call me Ross though. There's hardly any need for formality in this situation.”

Dwight nodded and smiled politely. “I suppose not.”

…

Demelza's head snapped up at a strange ripping sound that came and went. She looked at Dwight, who had raised his head as well, warily scanning the windows before he met her eyes.

Everyone else rushed to the windows and doors, throwing them open and craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the cause of the sound, somewhere to the north. Laleh looked pale and grim, while Sabir – one of the Palestinian men who had accompanied them to Aljoun – said rather unseemly things in Arabic. Demelza turned to stare at them.

“What was that?” she asked, her voice tense.

“Jet engines,” Dwight replied. “Fighter planes.”

Her attention went back to Dwight. “Are there any shelters, do you think?” she asked quietly.

“I doubt it,” he murmured back, unusually sombre.

Demelza reluctantly looked back at the nearest window. “Whose fighter planes?”

“Jordanian? Israeli? American? We don't know.” Laleh's voice was hard and rough as she answered. “They're attacking the Syrians.”

Demelza nodded and was quiet for a while, then slowly rose and went over to a window to look outside. The sound of roaring jet engines had quieted by now and there was nothing to be seen. She went back to her chair and stopped, unsure of what to do next. “What will happen if the Syrians retreat? Leave?”

Dwight glanced up at her. “The Jordanians are fighting the PLO. They've been pounding the PLO positions in Amman but people have held out. But without hope of reinforcements they must fold. The remaining stronghold is where we are.” He paused. “They'll come here.” Demelza drew a shaky breath.

“It could become bad,” he added and quietly closed the book he had been reading.

Demelza remained standing, vacantly staring at the people gathered by a window in her line of sight. The Palestinians around them had been optimistic only the day before. Irbid had fallen into Syrian hands and they had started pushing south. Everyone assumed they would be greeting the combined forces of Syria and PLA in just a day or two, on their way to Amman.

In an instant, the atmosphere changed as the jet motors were heard. Disbelief at first. Then a heavy silence that surrounded them now. Demelza wasn't entirely sure why everyone seemed to assume the worst, but then again, she didn't know much about warfare.

“I'm going to look in on Ross,” Dwight told her, put down his book and stood.

“I'll come along,” she said and followed him.

...

When they entered the room, it appeared that Ross was doing well and looked a lot better. He’d had a good wash, and there had been no further complications. He was awake and was staring at the window, clearly having heard the planes too. Naji looked up at them and nodded a greeting, but didn't offer his usual smile. Demelza stopped next to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

“I'll stay a while, if you want a break,” she said quietly. Naji darted a glance at the window and then shot up and left.

Once the door had closed behind Naji, Ross looked over at them. “I heard. Those were fighter planes.”

Dwight nodded and sat down next to the bed on a chair. “To the north.”

Demelza took a closer look at the IV and remained standing, looking out the window.

“Irbid. I've been waiting for it. I'm surprised it didn’t happen sooner. But then again, the Jordanian air force isn't exactly powerful and they'd most likely want help. Israel could possibly step in. And USS Independence is just off the coast.” Ross flickered a look at Demelza. “Aircraft carrier,” he explained as he saw her nonplussed look. “This place could blow up at any time. You need to get out.”

Dwight smiled thinly. “I'm not arguing with you. There is a slight problem with us leaving, as you know. Even if we could slip away, we are unfamiliar with the area. We have no idea where to go. Then there's also the complication of us having a seriously wounded person in our care. You're doing fairly well now, but that could quickly change. At worst you'll catch an infection and die. It's not just a matter of an injury that needs to heal though. The healing process needs a bit of help and you need training.”

Ross shook his head. “If they start bombarding this place I'm gone anyway. But you don't need to end that way.”

“A noble thought, but no. If we can't bring you with us, we're staying.” Dwight glanced up at Demelza who nodded.

“We're here,” she said. For a second she hesitated, but then she asked, “Why is it so bad with those... planes?”

Ross turned his head fully towards her. “To protect yourself from being obliterated you either have your own air force or you have surface-to-air missiles. Or both. And you hope your enemy won't bomb your hangars and planes before they get off the ground, and that your mobile missile units aren't hit. See, that's something of an Israeli speciality – hitting the enemy hard, taking out planes and missiles, so they control the airspace.”

He swallowed. “As far as I know, the Syrians weren’t going to use their fighter jets, partly because they aren't keen on provoking Israel and the Americans, but also because it's very costly to lose planes. Without anything to protect them against attacks from the air, the Syrians must pull out. Then the Fedayeen will be on their own. It's just a militia and they have already lost a lot of people.” He looked at them. “They can't win this.”

“So what happens to us?” Demelza's voice was slightly shaky.

Ross shrugged. “I can't say. The risk is great that the slaughter continues.”

“Would they kill us? The Jordanians?” Her wide eyes were directed at him.

“Not deliberately. It would look terribly bad if it came out that they had murdered British citizens held in captivity by Fedayeen groups. But we could still die. If they decide to bombard Ajloun like they have elsewhere we could get unlucky.”

Ross quieted, tense, before turning his head to stare at the wall to the north. For a moment Demelza and Dwight looked in askance at him, but then they understood what he was hearing: jet engines. They were suddenly upon them, roaring at them. Demelza's eyes widened and she started to dive for Ross when an extremely loud bang was heard. Terrified, she squeaked as she reached the cot and threw herself over him, covering as much of his torso and head as she could. It had felt as if the air pressure had briefly changed and the noise left her ears ringing.

Demelza squeezed her eyes shut and held on for dear life but nothing happened. The roof didn't cave in. There were no splinters flying.

The ear-splitting tearing sound of jet engines quickly died down and a hand touched her side gently.

“Demelza,” Ross rasped very quietly. “They're just scaring people. That was a sonic boom.”

She blinked her eyes open and raised her head slowly, looking around. Dwight was slowly resuming his position on the chair and Ross was eyeing her calmly. She slid off the cot and her eyes went to his injured leg. “I hope I didn't hurt you.”

He smiled slightly. “Only briefly.” When she started looking distressed he reached out and gripped her nearest hand. “You tried to keep me safe when I couldn't do it myself.” He looked down at her hand. She was shaking like a leaf, clearly displaying her fear. “That was brave.”

She shook her head. “I'm terribly frightened.” Her voice was unstable and she was trying to master her breathing, staring at the window.

“Yes, I can tell. No wonder. But you tried to do your job anyway, risking your own life to do it. And you're still standing, not reduced to a whimpering heap on the floor. I've seen people who think themselves tough and seasoned react worse first time something happened.”

He turned towards Dwight who was fairly pale under the tan. “Expect more of that. And at all times of day and night.”

Dwight nodded and dipped his eyes to his hands resting on his knees. “I'm not unfamiliar with it,” he said quietly.

Ross nodded and turned back to Demelza. “Please. Sit down.” He pressed her hand.

Her eyes, that had been nailed at the window, slowly drifted towards him until their eyes met. She nodded stiffly and pulled her hand out of his and stepped slowly backwards until she hit the chair with the back of her legs. Glancing over her shoulder, she sat down.

“Even if I don't think there are any shelters, it never hurts to ask,” Ross said quietly, glancing at Dwight.

“I'll look into it,” the doctor said and stood. “Are you staying?” he asked Demelza.

She nodded. “Yes. I think it's best if I do.”

Dwight nodded and left the room, quietly closing the door behind him. The moment the door clicked shut, Demelza almost jumped out of her seat and walked over to the window. She stood with a ramrod straight back, white as a sheet and stared through the glass.

“This is the hard part. You never knows when it comes. It's part of the strategy, them trying to intimidate, hopefully driving the enemy into a retreat, or in this case, to give up arms. The Hashemites are intent on crushing PLO.”

Demelza showed no sign of even having heard him.

“I'm sorry,” Ross said.

She turned to look at him with a slight frown. “What for?”

“You'd not have to go through this-”

“This is hardly your fault. We've been over this already,” she said dismissively and turned back to the window and drew a deep breath. “Somehow we'll get through this.”

…

Was it only yesterday that the first jet planes started tearing through the skies? It felt like days, if not weeks ago, Demelza mused. She slowly paced by the cot as she listened to bangs at a distance. They had relocated during the previous afternoon to a house considered safer, but she doubted they would survive a direct hit. Not that they had seen any of the destruction those planes could cause yet. Thankfully. But something told her it was just a matter of time.

The Fedayeen where whispering amongst themselves and while she couldn't hear what they were discussing, she could read their body language. The emotions ranged between anger and despair. She thought about what Ross had said the day before as she glanced at Sabir who deliberately stood with his back towards her as he conferred with Laleh. She was ducking her head, hiding her face behind his shoulder, clearly to keep Demelza from catching anything about what they were discussing. If their reaction was anything to go by, something like a make or break situation was going on in this moment.

She turned towards Ross and noticed him watching her with a steady and clear gaze. She smiled faintly at him.

“You will only wear your shoes down, pacing like that,” he said softly.

“It's difficult to handle this. I'm nervous and…afraid.” She stopped and faced him, though she didn't look straight at him.

“I know. It's all right. You're allowed to be.” His gaze went to Sabir, still with his back towards them.

“Where's Dwight?” he asked as he watched the tense pair by the door.

“Taking care of a broken bone. Uncomplicated. Nothing that needs my assistance.”

He nodded and looked back at her. “Want to play a game?”

She stared at him. “A game?”

“Yes? Something to take our minds off what's happening.”

“But... we don't really have anything...”

He shrugged lightly. “There are many kinds of games. Word games, story games... then we'd not need anything but our minds.”

Shaking her head she sighed. “I didn't even think about that.”

“It's not easy to think at all in these kinds of situations.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “You're doing this to distract me from pacing, aren't you?”

He grinned back at her. “Guilty as charged. But I am restless too, and I can't even pace.”

The door to the room opened with a bit more force than necessary and Naji stood in the doorway. They all turned their attention to him.

“They're pulling out,” Naji said in Arabic. The room went completely silent. Somewhere in the building there was a radio on, spewing out news about the latest developments. It was too muffled and the person was speaking too fast for Demelza to hear what was said.

Sabir was the first one to react, and he turned towards Demelza. “You must pack up. Take all the medical supplies you can bring with you.”

“Why?” Demelza stared at him, baffled.

“You're joining the PLA in their retreat. You're no good to us dead.”

Demelza whipped around and stared at Ross. “But he shouldn't be moved over such distances! How far off is the border? Eighteen-nineteen miles? More? And then an unknown distance on top of that in Syria too?”

“Pack. You are going,” Sabir snapped.

Demelza jutted out her chin and glared at Sabir. “I need Dr. Enys here then.”

“You are not going to travel together. Too dangerous.”

Demelza's eyes widened.

“Dr. Dwight will join the retreating forces to the north. You'll go east with Roshdi. That's the safest route.”

“If something happens—”

“—He'll join you once you're in Syria. Until then you'll have to make do. You're a nurse. Do your job.”

Sabir's words felt like lashes and Demelza ducked her head, not interested in challenging him any longer.

“Go on. Start packing. We're in a hurry,” he ordered.

She nodded, and keeping her head down she left the room to begin packing. Naji followed on her heels.

Demelza tried to at least pack the supplies as separately as she could, while making certain there were two sets, one for her and one for Dwight. She scribbled what was inside of each box to make it easier for them. Naji helped her, bringing boxes and bags, carrying them outside once she was finished.

Eventually she fetched the military jacket and kaffiyeh she had been given. Ross had been moved from the room, and she quickly picked up his things, making a bundle with her jacket. When she came outside she hurried over to the lorry, a common military issue one with a wood flatbed and low panels and soft sides – a tarp over a frame. Benches lined the sides of the lorry bed, under which the boxes had been stuffed.

There was a sense of urgency around the building and lorry. Demelza ignored it and climbed up into the cargo hold and went over to Ross. He was on his back, his injured leg secured. The glass drip bottle hung on a hook on the frame, far enough from any hard surfaces to not slam into anything if the roads became rough, which they most likely would.

She noted that someone had gone through the trouble of getting him dressed, and he was wearing mostly civilian clothes. They had dug out a pair of traditional drop crotch pants, with somewhat cropped legs, to go with an ordinary shirt and a pair of socks. She had to admit the pants were undoubtedly better suited for someone with the injury Ross had, compared to ordinary trousers. He wore the military jacket he'd had when she first met him, as well as a keffiyeh.

“Miss?” Naji called from the back of the lorry and Demelza turned her head to face him. “I have a few things for you, a blanket, some clothes, water and a little food. It's not much but...”

Demelza scrambled over to him and smiled warmly. “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” she said as she took the bag and the blanket from him.

“You're welcome. Make yourself ready. We're leaving in a few minutes,” he told her and left.

She resumed her position by Ross, tucking away the bag and blanket within reach. She sighed and leaned her head against the planks while staring at the back where some unknown Fedayeen were gathering.

“How long will this take, do you think?” she asked quietly.

“Days, if we're unlucky.” He smiled to take the edge off the prediction. “I'm not so sure we can catch up with the PLA. We'll have to avoid the main roads and any government troops.”

“This is dangerous, isn't it?” Her voice was barely audible.

Ross didn't reply and she turned to look at him. He was staring at the tarp above.

“Yes. If a couple of aircrafts whiz past and decide to hit us...” He went silent and shifted his eyes to meet hers. “If that happens, get out. Just dive.”

She gaped and struggled for words.

“There's nothing to be done for me in such a situation,” he added.

“Do you have a death wish?” she blurted.

“Absolutely not. I certainly hope we'll make it to the border without incident. Once inside Syria we'll finally be safe. It's just if we're chanced upon, there's no need for more casualties than necessary. I know you have an inclination to keep people safe, and that's... admirable. But in this situation you can't. The only thing you can do is to get out of the way.”

Demelza clenched her teeth and Ross sighed. “You're not going to listen, are you?”

The people gathering outside started to enter the cargo hold and take their seats on the benches. The space quickly filled with people and bags. Everyone was quiet, only glancing at her and Ross on the floor from time to time. It wasn't until these people climbed into the lorry that Demelza realised they were injured, bandaged here and there, everyone in such a way that made it clear they weren't useful in battle. This was, in all essence, going to be an ambulance convoy.

“Why aren't they using the Red Crescent, tying a flag over the tarp? So it can be seen by air?” she asked quietly.

“Because it will not matter.” Ross had closed his eyes and didn't open them. “It'll only make the vehicles more visible. Easier targets.”

“But it's not allowed to hit such transports!” she hissed.

He opened his eyes and met hers. His were cynical and cold as he answered. “Do you think international agreements matter to the army that rolled into refugee camps a week ago and started killing people, no matter if they were civilians or Fedayeen? Let me tell you something about the reality of war in this region. No one gives a fuck.” He closed his eyes and turned his face from her.

Demelza sat staring at him, shocked by his words.

The engine roared to life and the vehicle slowly began rolling, and she turned her head to look out through the back. They were on their way.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The only thing I own is my imagination.
> 
> The appendix to this story can be found it here: [**(x)**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6446197)
> 
> Huge thanks to [mmmuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmuse/pseuds/mmmuse) for being my beta!

The convoy Dwight travelled with had been trailing close to the Israeli border to avoid being caught up in the fights still going on just south of Irbid. A narrow mountain range was between them and the border, which cut the Jordan Valley in half, length-wise. They were heading north, well past the area were there was a risk of being caught in battles. Eventually, they were to turn and head east to reach before continuing towards the Syrian border along with any retreating troops. Hopefully they would pass unnoticed and reach the border some time during the night.

 _That_ was the plan.

Their luck ran out when they turned east and drove towards Irbid. A cluster of silvery bodies gleamed up in the sky in the September sun, approaching fast, flying low over the terrain.

They might miss us, Dwight thought hopefully, but the next moment he knew it wasn't the going to be the case. A couple of them made a turn and came down on the convoy like devils from the sky, dropping their cargo.

The ear-splitting noise from above roared past and the sound from the explosions slammed into them. Fire. Black smoke. Dust. Screams. Chaos.

The lorry stopped and Dwight pushed the passenger door open and rolled out of the seat, before dropping to the ground. He drew a couple of slow breaths – in through the nose and out through the mouth – then he looked up, trying to make sense of the situation. It seemed like the sky above was empty again, and he resolutely pushed himself up on his feet, carefully moving to a position where he could get a better over-view.

Naji came running through the smoke and dust, the whites of his eyes more visible than otherwise.

“Doctor! Doctor! You must come!” he shouted in Arabic and nearly skidded to a halt in front of Dwight. There was a note of panic in his voice and Dwight quickly put his hand on his shoulder for reassurance.

“Calm down,” Dwight replied with as much calm authority as he could muster. “How many vehicles have been hit?”

Naji whipped his head around. “I don't know!”

Several of the Fedayeen that had been in the back of the lorry Dwight had been travelling with, were pushing past, some heading to the front of the convoy, while others went the opposite direction.

“I need to assess the situation. Can you bring out the medical supplies so they are ready?” Dwight asked, and Naji nodded. “Good. I'll start at the back of the convoy.”

Naji darted away and Dwight focussed on the task at hand. In that moment, he wondered how Demelza was doing. It was a safer route she and their patient were on but there were no guarantees. He doggedly stored it away, for now. After all, he had other things to worry about at present.

He quickly strode down the road until he came to the first vehicle that had been affected, a jeep. It had been overturned and the passengers had been thrown out. He found scrapes, broken bones, head injuries but no one who was critically injured or dead.

“I'll come back,” he promised as he hurried onwards.

The lorry behind it was another story. It was a gruesome sight and when he took in the visual he understood Naji's panic. There were a few dead, but most very badly injured. As he quickly examined the casualties of the raid, he concluded that he wouldn't be able to help most of them with the meagre resources he had.

He caught one of the uninjured men and sent him for Naji who came running with as much supplies as he could carry. Dwight got to work, to save as many as he could from immediate death.

The commander of the convoy, a man Dwight didn’t know, came running along the road and stopped by Dwight as he was working, staring at the destruction around him.

“Most of these people are beyond what I can do here” he said as he rose to move on to the next person in need. “We must get them to Irbid. It's their only hope for survival.”

The commander gave him a short nod. “We'll clear out the undamaged vehicles. Pick out the ones that need to go to Irbid, see how many they are.” He started gesturing and ordering people around, taking control of the situation. Briefly he glanced at Dwight. “You may have to stay behind and wait to be picked up later.”

Dwight nodded. “As long as we have water, we'll manage.”

The commander gave him a nod and left.

Dwight looked around and spotted Naji, and waved to catch his attention. “Do we have anything we can use as marker? Any kind of colour?” he asked as Naji came over. “We must separate those in need of immediate transport.”

Naji looked back at him with a blank face for a moment, then he rose and ran towards the front of the caravan, quickly returning with a white piece of cloth in his hands. When he shook it out a red crescent was revealed.

“It's the only thing we have,” Naji said and held it out towards Dwight.

“Do we only have one?” Dwight would rather not use a Red Crescent flag if it could be avoided. He knew why it wasn't strapped to a lorry as they were travelling through Jordan, but once in Syria it would be a good idea to use it.

“We have two,” Naji offered.

“Tear it into strips. Tie it visibly around those I pick out for transport,” Dwight ordered.

“No no no!”

The cry made Dwight look up to locate its source. A young woman dropped to her knees by a body on the ground, gripping it in apparent desperation. Dwight got to his feet and hurried over, quickly taking stock of the situation. It was a young man, and he was bleeding out from a partially severed limb. Not only that, he had a nasty injury to his abdomen.

“It's my brother!” the woman cried. “My little brother.” She moved to give Dwight some space, but she didn't let go of the injured man.

Dwight nodded and quickly got to work. The young man turned his glassy eyes on Dwight, taking shallow breaths with parted white lips, showing signs of distress. Then, the breathing turned erratic only to stop.

As his sister cried out, Dwight quickly checked the pulse. There were none. If this had been a hospital, there could have been a slim chance of doing something, but out here, in the mountains west of Irbid, there was nothing he could do.

He sat quietly by the body for a few moments as the young woman wailed in her grief next to him.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured and pushed himself off the ground, feeling heavier than usual. Grimly, he turned back to the person he had left to finish what he started.

...

The sun had just set when they heard the news. Or Demelza did. Ross was fast asleep, looking pale in the faint light. They had caught up with the retreating Syrians and the PLA just an hour before, having gone around the Jordanian troops that stood between them and the army they tried to reach. They had managed to do so without incident.

They had stopped among the slow-moving Syrian vehicles, mostly Russian T-54 tanks painted in desert camouflage, but also lorries and jeeps. They were shrouded in dust, ripped up mainly by the tanks that retreated on a wide spanning front over the hilly landscape. A debate followed whether they should stay with the troops or move on, and try to reach the border as quickly as possible.

The call came over the radio and postponed the debate for a while, and though Demelza couldn't understand everything, she understood enough of news the detached voice relayed to them. The other convoy had been targeted.

A cold, sinking feeling overwhelmed her until she understood that Dwight was still alive. Unharmed even. Her knees almost buckled in her relief, and she barely made it over to the microphone to talk to him when she was called to do so. He gave her a brief account of what had happened, and their problems with reaching the Syrian main invasion force.

“It will take longer than expected, but you should not wait. Just go,” he had told her.

She glanced at those standing nearby listening in. “It's hardly my decision,” she pointed out.

“No, I know. But it needs to be repeated.” He went quiet for a few seconds. “How is Ross?”

She drew a slightly unsteady breath. After Ross had snapped at her there had been a strained silence between them, but half an hour into their journey he had apologised for his harsh words. She had of course accepted it, but they hadn't talked anything after that. Being carted around the way they were, took its toll on him though and he'd fallen asleep eventually.

“Asleep,” she said. “Otherwise he's doing as well as can be expected considering the circumstances.”

“I'm glad to hear it. I'll talk to you later, all right? Oh, and could you ask someone to send a message when you have crossed the border?”

“I will. Take care.” She handed the microphone to the person who had called her over, and turned to go back to the lorry she and Ross were travelling in. Laleh stepped into her path as she approached it, looking weary and pale in the quickly receding light.

“If we leave now, we could cross the border by midnight,” she said quietly.

“It's not my decision.” Demelza paused and weighed from one foot to the other as they looked at each other.

Laleh angled her head in agreement. “I'm sure you have an opinion though. What would be the most sensible?”

Demelza's mind raced. Was this a test? Were they trying to lure her into their fold by pretending what she had to say mattered? Or was there something else going on? She drew a deep breath and decided to speak her mind, despite her wariness. “We should run. It's treacherous because of the darkness, yes, but we're much harder to hit. Our people are injured. There is every reason to simply get out of the way.”

A faint smile lit up Laleh's face. “It's a pity you're a nurse, and English at that.”

Laleh's reply gave Demelza a pause. She'd be foolish to trust any of these Fedayeen, but they were people too after all. Sometimes a question was only a question.

“Yes, about that—” Demelza began, wanting to ask about Laleh's language skills.

Laleh shook her head. “Now is not the time.” She glanced in the direction of the cluster of people gathered by the radio. “I'll get us out of here now. Get in.” Laleh nodded at the lorry. Demelza dipped her chin and climbed into it.

…

She woke with a start, her eyes flying open to stare at Ross' profile, faintly visible in the weak light from a lantern. The lorry they were in had stopped moving, she realised. The engine was silent and there was no other engine sounds either.

When she took a closer look she found that he was awake. She moved, making a slight rustling sound, and he half-turned to look at her.

“They're filling up the tanks,” Ross whispered. “Try to go back to sleep.”

She winced and stretched as best she could. She felt dirty and sticky, and her body ached from sleeping on the hard surface the lorry bed provided. They had crossed over the border to Syria just before midnight, which had been a relief, and Demelza had fallen asleep shortly thereafter. Their final destination was not known, and she didn't care much, as long as it was a fairly decent place. She didn't relish the idea of rough camping with autumn coming on.

“Cold?” Ross asked, as if he sensed her thoughts.

She had to admit that she felt a bit chilled, being wrapped only in a thin military jacket for summer use. “I didn't pack for an extensive trip lasting well into autumn,” she replied wryly.

He started pulling at the blanket covering him, a small smile on his face. Her hand quickly shot out, trying to stop him.

“No no! You need it more than I do!” she hissed in protest.

“Nonsense. I'm quite warm.” He caught her hand in his. “You feel it?”

Reluctantly she had to agree that he wasn't simply acting out of some valiant, gentlemanly obligation. His hand was indeed very warm. She involuntarily made an annoyed sound at the loss of warmth when he let go, which made him chuckle. The blanket landed over her and she realised he had turned it lengthwise, covering them both. Part of her legs and boots ended up outside and she instinctively curled up like a cat, only leaving her boot-covered feet outside the blanket.

“Better?” he asked.

Hiding her cold nose under the blanket, she simply nodded.

“Sleep, Demelza. If I'm right we've got a long way to go yet.”

She peeked up at him. “Where do you think we're going?”

“To the capital, I'd wager.”

Demelza was quiet for a while. “This truly is the road to Damascus then,” she murmured and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

He chuckled again. “Looks like it,” he agreed.

She fell quiet, mulling over Dwight's situation, wondering how they were doing. Had they reached the retreating army or had they tried to simply head for the border? She quelled a sigh.

“We're not travelling in convoy with the retreating troops,” Ross suddenly said.

She glanced up at him and realised he was studying her.

“No,” she replied and burrowed down her nose in the blanket again.

It was quiet for another minute. “Care to tell me what happened?” he prompted.

Giving up, she sighed and pulled up her head. “The retreat is a slow one. The troops are being constantly hit from both the air and ground. We had no business remaining with them and expose ourselves to that danger.” She swallowed. “We ran.”

Ross nodded. “Why do I get the feeling something happened?”

“Nothing has happened to us,” she replied evasively.

“But...?” He arched his brow at her.

She couldn't hold his gaze any more. “Not everyone has been that fortunate.”

“Demelza, please. Tell me,” he pleaded.

She really didn't want to be the bearer of bad news but she could hardly keep what had happened from him either. “The other convoy was hit before they reached the retreating Syrians. Dwight is fine but many others aren't.”

He nodded slowly and then went back to staring at the tarp above. A couple of the men they were travelling with climbed back up into the lorry, probably after having visited some nearby bushes. The tailgate was closed and she heard people calling out that they were leaving.

“Do we know if they can make it over the border in the shape they're in?” he finally asked.

“I don't know. Dwight didn't tell me when I talked to him.” It hadn't even occurred to her that they might be held back by what had happened, and that they wouldn't be able to rendezvous as planned.

Ross heaved a deep breath and nodded. “Well, there's not much we can do about it.”

She gave no answer to that, and just hid her face in the blanket again. It was a frightening prospect, being all on her own. She had felt relatively safe and confident, as long as Dwight had been there, but if he couldn't get out of Jordan any time soon, or if something happened to him, her support would be gone. In that instant, she was very aware of the fact that she was just a nineteen year-old in a very dangerous world.

“Don't expect the worst. We'll be the last to know of any news, so just because no one tells us, that doesn't mean no one knows. Besides, there are many ways out of Jordan. They'll find one, eventually.” His voice was calm and sympathetic and she nodded without looking up.

The motor started and they slowly set off through the night towards yet another dawn. Demelza tried to focus on the warmth the blanket provided and that she was very tired. Because of the way she had curled up under it, her knees touched Ross' hip and his warmth seeped into her skin through the layers of clothing, adding to the comfort. Burrowing her face further under the blanket she sighed, as content as she could become in this situation and, soon after, fell asleep again.

…

Demelza sat with her feet dangling over the back of the lorry, gazing out over the plains. They were near the town of Nawa, in the forested hills, where they had stopped to wait for the others to catch up with them after crossing the border during the night. One of the Fedayeen, Sabir this time, walked towards the lorry, carrying something wrapped in a cloth. When he looked up he smiled at her.

“Miss, I brought you and Roshdi some food,” he said, holding up the bundle to her with a smile. The smile was an unusual sight from him, and it felt a bit like a peace offering after the past several days of harshness.

She carefully took it from him and set it beside her. “Thank you, Sabir.” She smiled. “Kind of you to bring it to us.”

He shrugged. “Roshdi can't walk and I knew you'd stay with him.” He peeked inside, past her. “How is he doing?”

“Considering the situation, surprisingly well. He's in good health, aside from the wound, and that helps. He's in pain now though. I need to be careful not to raise the dose too much and too quickly. The effect it has is already waning on the dose he's been getting this far. The rough ride isn't helping.”

“Do you need help moving him?” Sabir asked.

She shook her head. “No, you go ahead and eat and rest yourself.”

He nodded. “The other group will catch up with us soon. When they do we'll continue north.”

Demelza paused, on her knees. “So we're going to Damascus then?”

“For now. We might move on. But first we must see to the injured.”

She sat back on one leg and foot. “How bad is it?”

Sabir looked gravely at her and then dropped his gaze. “I don't know any details but I'd guess we should continue as quickly as we can. I can't think of any reason to linger here.”

“How far until we're in Damascus?”

“It's sixty-five miles by road, but we can't move very fast.”

“Still, there's no risk of being attacked and surely we can use better roads now? That should change things, shouldn't it?”

“It should,” he agreed.

She nodded. “Thank you,” she said quietly and picked up the bundle to take it inside to Ross.

He was awake, attempting to move when she came over to him. Putting the bundle on the bench next to where he was lying, she quickly put her arms around his torso under his arms and locked her hands at his back.

“You don't have to,” he protested.

“Yes, I do,” she told him and braced herself, making sure her back wasn't going to take the brunt of his weight. In one steady motion, she lifted him up and positioned him so his back was propped up against the wood panel by his head.

“Is that all right?” she asked, still holding her grip, prepared to adjust his position if needed.

“Yes, yes, it's enough,” he quickly replied and she released her hold on him and pulled back.

Once she had let him go, he started pushing himself further up, making pained faces as he struggled.

“There's no need for heroism,” she said curtly. “I assure you, I can manage you quite well. Your leg should not be jostled about like that.”

He didn't quite meet her eyes and she quelled a sigh. She was uncertain about how to deal with him at times. It wasn't that he was shy or terribly proper. It had more to do with respect and his own moral compass, as far as she understood. The positive side was that there were no straying hands. The negative was that it on occasion made her job difficult. Especially when it came to certain bodily functions. She very nearly rolled her eyes at the thought.

By now he knew who had put in the catheter used during the operation, but it didn't exactly make things better or easier. For the most part she asked Sabir to help in those situations. Sabir, just as Naji, had found it quite amusing, quietly snickering at Ross, which had prompted Demelza to recruit him to help. Sabir's amusement had faded when he realised what he'd had to do, but to his credit he hadn't voiced any protests.

She sat down next to him, leaning against the planks like he did and reached out and picked up the bundle. Her eyes grew large when she opened it. It contained a pot of stew made of some meat – lamb or mutton – peas and carrots in a brown thick sauce, lidded with two pieces of flat bread and spoons. She hadn't eaten much over the days before they started their journey. Since then, she’d only had the fare she had been given by Naji, which hadn't been much. As the fragrance of the stew hit her nostrils, she realised just how hungry she was.

Before Ross said anything, she moved around so she faced him and crossed her legs, inching as close as she could. The pot she put in her lap and handed Ross one of the spoons and his piece of flat bread.

“There. Easier for us both,” she said and smiled cheerfully at him and dug in.

He smiled slightly and started eating too, though not quite with the same speed. “No one's going to take the food from you,” he said gently.

For a moment she hesitated and looked up, then chewed and swallowed. “I was just so hungry,” she said apologetically.

“I'm not saying you shouldn't eat. You'll feel sick if you inhale your food though.”

She shrugged with a lopsided smile. “I think I have a gut made of steel.”

The meal disappeared within minutes and Demelza packed up the pot, spoons and cloth and put it at the open back-end of the lorry. For a while she stood gazing out over the landscape before she ducked inside again.

“I fear what we'll see when the convoy Dwight is travelling with arrives,” she said as she sat down next to Ross again.

Tilting his head slightly he glanced at her. “Pity I can't do much when they arrive.”

“Not true. If we could get hold of sheets, I would put a pair of scissors in your hands and tell you to cut and roll. For as long as you could stand it.”

“Pity we have no sheets and no scissors then.”

Absently she nodded while she studied him. “I think I should locate some water and get you cleaned up. Once the others arrive the respite will end.”

“What I wouldn't give for a real bath,” he sighed.

“Whether you like it or not, you would have had to stand sponge washing back in London too. With that wound you'd not be allowed near a tub in a long while.” When he opened his mouth she shook her head. “No. I know you want to do it all by yourself, but no. You still need a bit of help.”

He sighed and closed his eyes while Demelza quickly got on her feet and scurried off, bringing the pot with her.

She engaged Sabir to help her, and they paid a visit to some houses nearby where they could borrow buckets. They were also given soap and some towels. They filled the buckets from the well and slowly went back to the lorry. Sabir hauled the buckets up onto the cargo hold floor and threw Ross a quick amused look, then went back the way he had come. Demelza climbed into the hold and carefully, so not to spill the water, carried one of the buckets over to him.

“Wouldn't it be better if I moved?” he asked, pointedly looking at the buckets left by the open back.

“With your leg I'd not want to move you more than absolutely necessary. I'll manage this.”

He reluctantly looked at her and watched as a sponge, towels and soap materialised next to him. She flashed him a cheerful smile. “There's apparently a village nearby. They provided us with the food and they have also been kind enough to help with other things. Sheets, for instance.”

“But no scissors,” he smirked.

“I've put some of the boys to work. You're supposed to be cleaned up a bit after all.”

The look he gave her spoke volumes of what he was thinking. But he was making an effort to be civil about it, even when he was uncomfortable.

She turned to the wound first, but soon enough she sat back and looked at him with a slight frown on her face. “You really do need a complete wash,” she said in an attempt at persuading him to accept it with minimal fuss.

“If we're going to arrive in Damascus soon, perhaps we can save the worst splashing for then?” he asked, trying to maintain a casual façade, but failing miserably. For the first time, she couldn't hold back and snorted at him, quickly ducking her head and biting her lower lip in a feeble attempt of quelling her amusement. Clearing her throat and squaring her shoulders, she looked up again, knowing she couldn't hide her amusement. She could only hope he wasn't too offended.

“You're not getting out of this,” she said lightly. “This is a serious matter too, you know,” she continued, her amusement fading.

He nodded stiffly.

She sat watching him thoughtfully for a few moments, until he looked at her questioningly. “I have a suggestion,” she started and he arched his eyebrows at her, prompting her to go on. “If I help you with what's more difficult for you to do on your own, you could try to do the rest yourself. Would that be acceptable?”

Ross lit up and looked relieved, and she nodded at him. Yes, it was the right decision. He'd probably be clumsy and spill water all over the place, but it was sunny, warm and dry weather, after all. It wouldn't harm him.

“It could become a bit messy,” he said apologetically.

A small smile turned the corners of her mouth upward. “It'll dry up soon enough. Let's start with your hair, all right?” She stood on her knees and began helping him take off the jacket and shirt.

She was quick and efficient, and there was almost no waste of water, only a few drops ended up on the planks. When she determined he could manage the rest, she sat back on her hunches and wrung out the sponge she had used.

“There. The rest shouldn't be too difficult.”

He nodded and picked the sponge out of her hand. She got on her feet to exchange the used bucket with a new one.

Putting it down next to him, she arranged everything so it would be easy to reach for him, and then looked up with a smile. “I'll be right outside if you need any help.” She rose, climbed out of the lorry, lifted out the buckets with used water and went over to a nearby tree and poured it over the roots. Turning one of them over, she sat down and prepared to wait.

It was a fair day and in the stillness it was difficult to imagine that just miles away, on the other side of the border, there was a war going on. She had never given national borders much thought before since they seemed so natural when she grew up. Water created a natural barrier between her country and the world around it. Here it was different. Land could, by a stroke of a pen, suddenly end up belonging to another country. There had been so many armed conflicts over land the past decades, too.

As she basked in the silent safety, her thoughts went to her home, and her siblings and the few friends she had. She wondered what they were doing and if they knew that she had disappeared. Perhaps they already knew she was held hostage. It wasn't often she thought of home, but for once she did, missing her brothers fiercely. Now she didn't know when she was going to hear from them again.

She glanced at the lorry and then at her watch. Less than five minutes had passed, but he should be finished. Slowly she stood and went back to the lorry.

“Are you done yet?” Demelza asked loudly next to the open back.

“Almost. You can come out of hiding, if you want.” He was amused, she heard it in his voice, and she smiled in relief. Humour was good. It meant he was getting used to the situation and her presence.

Quickly she climbed inside and came over to him. “Don't tell me it's not nice to be a bit cleaner.”

He dropped the towel on the bench and reached for the shirt, just out of his reach. She snatched it up and began helping him dress.

“I don't mind being clean, you know,” he replied with a small smile playing on his lips.

“No, I suspected you wouldn't.” When she adjusted the shirt he tried to move a bit to make things easier for her, but froze. His face was tight, scrunched up in agony. Her hands stilled immediately as she glanced over at his leg.

He shook his head and drew a steadying breath. “It's all right,” he managed.

Swiftly she double-checked the injury while he clumsily struggled with the shirt.

“You're tired,” she said when she finished and brushed away his hands to help him button the garment.

As she worked on the buttons, she noticed that his focus was on her riotous hair, studying it closely. There was a hint of a lopsided smile, and then he lifted his hands, gently catching a knot in her hair and undoing it without causing her any pain.

When finished he glanced at her, still with the small smile on his lips. As their eyes met his smile faltered and embarrassment took over.

“It was a bad tangle. I just...” He went silent and dropped his gaze.

“It does that a lot. Especially now,” she replied casually while she quickly finished the buttons.

“Don't you have a brush?” he asked, his eyes still averted.

She shot him a look as she quickly picked up the sponge, towels and the soap. “Yes I do, but it's in a room in Amman, along with my clothes and a few keepsakes. Since we left Ajloun I haven't been able to brush or comb it, just sort out the worst with my fingers.”

He nodded, still not quite looking at her.

She turned fully towards him and considered him for a moment. “Thank you. It's difficult to find them all when I don't have a mirror.”

Hesitantly he met her eyes, and then nodded. She could tell he was uneasy but she didn't know what to say to put him at ease and assure him she hadn't taken offence.

He was moody at times, which was hardly surprising considering the situation, but he was on the whole friendly and he wasn't arrogant towards her despite her age. In some ways he reminded her about Dwight, particularly when he took the time to explain things and the fact that he didn't ridicule her fears.

“I'm glad I could help,” he said quietly.

The rumble of engines disturbed the relative quietness and Demelza quickly got on her feet to look out.

“They're here,” she announced and turned to give him a quick look. “Anything you need before I dash off? Don't know how long this will take.”

“Water would be nice.”

She nodded, went back inside and retrieved the empty water bottle and headed towards the back-end of the lorry.

“I'll send in one of the boys with the water, yeah?” she said over the shoulder, and jumped down on the ground.

…

Dwight sighed with relief when the vehicle stopped and the driver turned off the engine. It was early afternoon and they were finally on Syrian territory, and while it didn't solve his immediate problem with medical supplies, at least they didn't have to worry about attacks. When he started climbing out of the cabin he spotted Demelza hurrying towards him. Her face was tense, but he could see she was happy to see him. It made him smile in return.

“It's such a relief to see you,” she said, breathless when she reached him. The relief and happiness in her voice confirmed his earlier assumption.

He was damn glad to see her as well. He didn't give her a hug, even if he dearly wished to. Most people never saw his private self, only the professional façade. Few knew that he was, in fact, rather shy. He also worried that his actions could be misinterpreted, which was yet another reason to not do what he really wished to. They were already closer than was considered proper by his colleagues who didn't approve of informality between the ranks.

Demelza suddenly broke out in a wide toothy smile and reached out to press his upper arm with her hand, as if she sensed what he was thinking, and balancing the wish for reassurance perfectly. A gesture like that went a long way. Perhaps he didn't need to worry after all.

Not that there was anything wrong with Demelza. She was not conventionally beautiful, but few could compete with her when she smiled like she did just now. While she wasn't an intellectual nor had any specific education, aside from the course she had taken to get her diploma after getting her O-levels, she was smart and picked up knowledge and information with an almost frightening speed. Her mind was quick, but it was a kind quickness, and she was always focused on people's well being.

However, Dwight didn't allow himself to think of her as anything other than his colleague. She was far too young, still in her teens. She thought no one knew just how young she was, but he had seen her file. He couldn't help worrying about her, which was the reason he had started asking for her. When it turned out she was as good at her profession, he'd had even more reason to do it. Now he regretted this decision. Because he brought her along with him everywhere, she was now a hostage. Heaven knew what could happen to them, even now when they weren't in actual harm’s way.

“How bad is it?” she asked and scanned the vehicles parking around them.

“It's mostly splinter wounds, but nothing fatal. The worst cases we left behind in Irbid. And the dead.” He went quiet as he thought about the boy who had died in his hands, and his devastated sister. When he looked up he saw the sympathy written all over Demelza's face.

“What do you have in terms of supplies?” he asked and shook himself free of the images. He had living patients to think of, after all.

“Morphine. Not a whole lot though. We've been given clean sheets and I have set people on cutting them up and making rolls of the strips. There are some sterile bandages and equipment too. I have taken care of Ross so he won't need our attention for a while.”

Dwight nodded. “We should move on and not stay here.”

She glanced over at Sabir who was standing nearby talking to one of the drivers. “I think they are as eager to press onwards as we are.”

“The sooner we get to a proper facility where these people can be properly treated, the better. We could be in Damascus before nightfall.”

She jerked her head in Sabir's direction. “You should talk to them. But surely you have time for a short break to look everyone over before we continue?”

He relaxed his shoulders and nodded, giving her a tired smile. “Of course. Will you begin while I speak with the Fedayeen?”

“I will.” She gave his arm one more reassuring press with her hand before she moved onwards to the newly arrived vehicles.

The conference was short, as they all seemed to have drawn the same conclusions. When the decision was made, intense activity broke out and he only had a few moments to look in on Ross, who seemed to be in relatively good spirits and genuinely glad to see him. Dwight didn't make friends with ease, being both too quiet and reflective, and unable to keep his opinions contained when people annoyed him. Conservative people in particular. Despite their short acquaintance Dwight had come to like Ross, and it warmed him that it seemed mutual. Feeling better about the situation than he had been since Aljoun, he went to his transport.

Ten minutes later they were heading north, towards Damascus.

...

They arrived in Damascus after the sun had set. Dwight, Demelza and Ross had been separated from the convoy and given some clothes that were meant to disguise their appearance, and then ordered to get into a Land Rover jeep. Ross had been quiet and pale, clearly in quite a bit of pain. Sabir and Naji had been assigned to them and while they were as careful as they could, some jostling was inevitable. Demelza hovered around them and the moment she could, she was immediately by Ross's side to cheer him up.

“There will be medical supplies where we're going,” Naji said as Sabir climbed into the driver's seat.

Demelza smiled tiredly at him. “Thank you,” she replied. Naji nodded and climbed into the jeep next to Sabir, who started the engine.

They drove for about fifteen minutes and even if Demelza had paid attention, she would have lost all sense of direction as soon as they entered the city. Ross had difficulties compensating for movements, especially turns and curves, and Demelza held him in place while Dwight kept an eye on the injured leg.

When they arrived at their destination Ross was quickly carried through the entrance to an unknown house. Demelza quickly scanned the narrow street, wondering how many eyes that were following them. She understood the inclination to not linger, as to not call attention to them, but she wondered if it would prevent gossip. She doubted it.

Inside the house they found themselves in a fairly spacious room on the ground floor, with thick rugs on the floor and three mattresses on the rugs. Ross was transferred to one of them and Dwight quickly dug out the pain medication to administer to their patient.

Food was brought to them and Sabir and Naji joined them. Ross, who had been propped up so he could eat, only picked at his meal while Demelza watched him, concerned, as she – in her usual manner – almost gulped down her food.

Ross finally gave up trying to eat when his chin sank down towards his chest and his eyes drooped closed. Dwight and Demelza rose to help him to lie down properly while Naji cleared away the bowl and spoon. The patient was asleep the moment his head rested on the pillow. Demelza went back to her bowl with a sigh, finishing the meal. She too wished nothing more than to sleep after all.

Despite being exhausted, Demelza lay awake for a while after going to bed, listening to Dwight’s rhythmic breathing, and the unfamiliar sounds from the house and the inhabitants in it. When she thought about their situation, it seemed to stretch out before her, like the vast unknown. She was glad she wasn't alone in this predicament, but it didn't stop her from feeling lost and a bit afraid.

Rolling up tightly, she hugged her knees, the way she used to do when she was much younger, after Mum had died, and missed her so much it was physically painful. She burrowed her head into the pillow and tried to will herself to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, finally. Enjoy!

After the past days it was a relief to feel relatively safe again, Demelza thought, even if they were locked up. They had one room, fairly spacious, with thick if slightly worn rugs covering it. There weren't much in the way of furniture, just the mattresses, some large cushions and a low table. There was a kerosene heater, and a small bathroom adjacent to the room.

Their prison, because that was how she viewed it, was on the second floor of a four-storey narrow terraced house. The windows towards the alley were blocked off with shutters nailed into place, but they had decent sized single glazed windows facing the yard, letting in light. Once a day they were opened to let in some fresh air, a task that was carried out by the Fadila, the old matriarch of the house. She also kept an eye on Ross's recovery with questions and lengthy admonitions, which seemed to amuse him a fair amount, which probably was the reason why she did it.

Quietly Fadila also brought up Demelza's period, while disapproving of their captor’s arrangement that meant that a woman would have to share rooms with men. Demelza shrugged and pointed out that wasn't her decision. Personally she didn't wish for the situation to change either. She'd panic if she was locked up on her own, cut off from her two only true friends. Regardless, she was grateful for the supplies given to her.

Even if she didn't want to be separated from her two male companions, it took some time to adjust. They weren't her brothers, and she found it difficult to find the privacy she sometimes craved. While she was used to sharing space and life with her brothers, she had always managed to find moments of solitude. The captivity almost put an end to those. It was fortunate that they had a bathroom, but she couldn't lock herself up there for any length of time. Both Dwight and Ross understood her need of privacy and did their best to give her space and mind their own behaviour as much as they could, but it was trying nevertheless.

A week into their stay in Damascus, Ross woke up with a fever. Though alarmed at first, Dwight quickly concluded that it was a flu, and while it was unpleasant for their patient, it wasn't cause for panic. Ross slept a lot, hardly ate anything, and the second night he woke up delirious, babbling agitatedly about the sickly bright colours that pulsated in the room, and how he would never again take anything hallucinogenic. Demelza met Dwight's eyes and arched her eyebrows, and Dwight seemed slightly amused by the admission from Ross through his feverish dreams.

For twenty-four hours his fever raged high until it broke. By then, Naji had caught it, and -- a few days later -- Dwight fell victim to it as well. Just as everyone was getting better, Demelza finally succumbed. For days she suffered horrible coughing and high fever, not remembering much of what happened around her. One morning she woke up, relatively clear-minded and was met by a pale and drawn Dwight, who told her how pleased he was that she was better. Ross, too, had propped himself up on his elbow, echoing Dwight's relief with a warm smile.

That was the turning point for Demelza. It was reassuring to listen to their steady breathing when she was about to sleep, and if she woke up in the middle of the night, she'd watch them both in the faint light coming through the windows, feeling safe. They didn't talk about it, but she knew they felt the same. It made her smile, on the occasion when she'd look up and find either Dwight or Ross watching her, and they did the same in return when she let her eyes rest on either of them.

o.o.o

“There's tension in the air,” Dwight mused as he sat cross-legged on his mattress, his back resting against the wall while he stared through the window in front of him. The rumble from a car from a narrow street nearby, amplified and distorted by the soundwaves bouncing off the walls, temporarily drowned the creaks and noises of the house, people talking, the thumping footfalls of someone crossing the floor, and rushing water in exposed pipes.

“Hardly surprising,” Ross replied without opening his eyes. He was propped up, half-reclining on his own mattress by the kerosene heater. The warmth emanating from it had apparently made him drowsy. “Where's Demelza, by the way? I thought we were supposed to be under house arrest.”

Dwight glanced at Ross and smiled. “Demelza has somehow managed to talk herself into the kitchen. Flattery and a willingness to learn more Arabic wore Granny down.”

Ross turned towards Dwight and opened his eyes. “Meaning?”

“Demelza is getting both cooking and language lessons by the family's women.”

Ross considered this for a while. “Is she always like that? Cheerful, positive...”

Dwight tilted his head and nodded. “Most of the time. Put an obstacle before her and she will try to find a way past. It's one of the reasons I began asking for her assistance specifically. That and the fact that she's got the skill, and the bedside manners.”

“Naïve,” Ross sighed, closing his eyes again.

“She's nineteen,” Dwight remarked in a tone that suggested that Ross was a bit unreasonable. “Of course she's naïve. Although, I have to say she's not nearly as naïve as you might think. She has not been coddled in life.”

“If your family comes from Darlaston, you haven't been spoiled.” Ross pried open one eye and sent a lazy look at Dwight. “Her father worked for my uncle's company, PKN Steel. I'm sure of it.”

“Not as an engineer, I presume?” Dwight asked dryly.

Ross shook his head with a bleak smile. “Unlikely. She grew up in Islington.”

Dwight nodded. “That, I knew.”

Ross's eye fell shut. “So, do you have any warmer feelings for her, other than the professional assessment 'she's got the skill, and the bedside manners'?”

Dwight hesitated for a moment as he eyed Ross's profile, then one corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Are you asking for a friend?” He allowed amusement to leak into his voice.

A small chuckle escaped Ross while he shook his head. “Hardly.” He turned his head to face Dwight and opened his eyes. “It's just so unusual with a physician who's having a close and personal relationship with a nurse.”

Dwight shrugged. “I'm not your average physician either. I wouldn't be here if I saw doctoring as a means to sustain a lifestyle.”

A warm smile grew on Ross's face. “I have noticed.”

“As for Demelza; she's a bright and pretty girl, but I have no other interest than being friends. I have no siblings, but she has slowly grown to become the sister I never had.”

Ross waved slightly in the air and let his head fall back against the support behind his back. “I was simply curious. I’ve no such interest either. I'm engaged.” His face took on a wistful look. “Happily so,” he added.

Silence reigned for a while, until Ross suddenly spoke. “Tension. You mentioned tension,” he said.

Dwight was pulled out of his own reverie and nodded. “Our guards are talking when they think they can't be overheard. The failed invasion of Jordan has stirred political unrest.”

“Well, there are times when I wonder if Assad didn't fuck things up out of spite, to make the president seem like a failure,” Ross said curtly, easing back against the mattress.

“It's what the Fedayeen are thinking too,” Dwight noted.

Ross shrugged. “Assad does not really like the Fedayeen himself. He's supporting them, as long as they are useful, but don't for a moment think that he'll do it if their interests differ from his.”

Dwight angled his head and studied his friend. “You're quite crass.”

“It's an occupational hazard,” Ross said and lowered his eyes to the floor between them. “Over the years I have seen selfishness enough to last several lifetimes. Money and power: that's what it's all about.”

“So why are you working for MI6 then?” Dwight couldn't help but ask. That question had been on his tongue several times but he had swallowed it down. Ross did not quite seem like an agent, but then again, Dwight had little experience of agents.

“Believe me, I have asked myself that question many times.” Ross paused, appearing to struggle to find the right words. Dwight patiently waited for what he had to say. “It seemed like a better option than university. I didn't know what I wanted to do and it seemed adventurous to work as a field operative.” He shook his head. “I didn't think about Queen and Country. Not then. Now I do, but perhaps not in the way my superiors would appreciate.”

Dwight considered Ross's words, the honesty and the bitter streak in them. “Will you continue working on the field once we're released?”

“That depends on if I'm paraded in the media. If it comes to their attention, my career is dead.” Ross made a cutting motion with his hand.

“But you have no doubts about continuing working like this?”

“No, I can't say that I have. I'm still drawn to it because it offers me free travel and to do things most people will never even come close to. It's much safer than the army. I even get paid for it.”

“But the political ramifications...” Dwight interjected, pushing away from the wall to lean slightly forward, fixing Ross with his gaze.

“I'm not a hawk. I don't think our government is making the correct decisions abroad when they lend people and resources to conflicts – not in general,” Ross explained, and then paused as if weighing his words. “I think it's important that people who don't hate all communists and see a red threat behind every corner stay in this kind of a profession, too. If my report can halt the worst idiocy in a certain situation, then I have been at the right place at the right time, even if it only happens once. How many people can say they have swayed political decisions about war and peace?” He paused and arched his eyebrows at Dwight. “Not many. But I have the chance to do so.”

Dwight slowly sank back against the wall and nodded. “I never thought about it in that way,” he confessed.

Ross smiled listlessly. “It's what I keep telling myself when I get too disillusioned. I have been asking myself if I'm really doing the right thing so many times the past six months.”

“And now?”

Ross threw out his hands and then let them fall back in his lap. “Now it's too late. I should have switched sides while fighting in Irbid. Alas! The moment is gone.”

Dwight struggled, not sure what to say. He felt Ross's eyes on him and he met them. “Truly?” he asked.

“Yes. Several times. The cost was too great though, or so I reasoned at the time. I could not have gone home or I'd be facing charges. I'd lose Elizabeth and my home. But now I'm sitting here, wondering if I'm ever going to go home.”

“I see no reason for us to not be sent home, eventually,” Dwight said firmly.

Ross gave him a long look that sent chills up his spine. “Things are changing,” he said and there was an edge to his voice. “The hijackings at Zarqa upped the game. The hostages lived, but there could have been casualties. It was pure luck that no one was shot. And I could easily be picked out to be made an example of.” He turned his gaze towards the kerosene heater and scowled. “If I had been Israeli I doubt I'd be sitting here with you.”

What he left unsaid filled Dwight with dismay. Of course he knew about the unforgiving attitude between Palestinians and Israelis. It was difficult not to, if one stayed in the region for any length of time, and it was easy to lose hope about a positive change in the region once you had faced it. Dwight still held on, but only just.

“But you're not Israeli,” he pointed out, tempering the heat that threatened to leak into his voice.

“We're almost as bad in the eyes of many around here. We are responsible after all.” Ross directed a quick cold smile at Dwight.

“Surely--” Dwight began but closed his mouth when Ross slowly shook his head.

“Don't. It's ignoring the situation at hand and that won't do us any good.” He was quiet for a beat. “Don't tell Demelza,” he added.

Dwight arched his eyebrows at Ross.

“She cares too much and she has enough on her plate.” Ross turned his head away from Dwight so he couldn't see the look on Ross's face. “Contrary to popular belief, I am very aware that she's barely more than a child.”

Dwight didn't answer. He couldn't promise such a thing because it would be unfair and patronising to hide something like that to Demelza. Silence stretched between them as Ross kept his head turned away from Dwight, apparently not inclined to continue the conversation. Dwight understood why. Thinking about your own possible demise was not a cheery concept and Ross did not want to die. Dwight decided to let it be for the time being. Knowing Ross as he did now, he knew that a argument wasn't possible at this point. He was not a psychiatrist but he believed he understood Ross's somewhat mercurial nature and how and when touchy subjects could be discussed. Besides, they had plenty of time on their hands. Dwight was certain they'd come back to this matter again, at least if he was allowed to steer the conversations.

...

Both men turned their heads when the door to the room opened. In stepped Demelza, cheeks red from the kitchen heat and a wide, toothy smile, carrying a tray with what appeared to be the midday meal. Behind her came Fadila, also carrying a tray.

“I'm bringing us something to eat!” Demelza declared and put down her tray. She turned towards the elderly woman, taking the tray from her hands and thanking her in Arabic.

Dwight helped Ross into a better position while Demelza busied herself with the food. As they ate, Demelza told them about her morning in the kitchen and asked Ross about Arabic grammar. Dwight packed up the dishes once they had finished their meal and took it back to the kitchen. Demelza watched the door close, and then turned her head towards Ross. She looked much less cheerful than she had only moments earlier.

“Ross,” she began, her eyes quite serious. “People are talking. They say we might be moved.”

Ross arched his brow. “They told you?”

She nodded. “One of the girls did. She has overheard several discussions about it. Things are not going well in Jordan, and there's something brewing here in Syria, too.”

“Dwight heard something similar recently,” he admitted, and then sighed. “I expect we will be moved around quite a lot until this captivity ends. We might not even stay in Syria.”

She gazed at a spot on the wall. “I worry that they will separate us,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He studied her for a beat, again being reminded of her youth simply by looking at her, before he gave her an answer. “They could, but then they would have to find more places to hide us and people to look after us. It's not likely,” he said gently.

“What are we going to do?” she asked.

It was not a wail, there were no wringing of hands; just a question and it puzzled him. “How do you mean?”

She made a sweeping gesture with her arm, her eyes following her movement over the walls. “We just sit around all day. We're not let outside, we aren't allowed to read news papers or listen to the radio.” She turned her eyes to Ross. “What do we do to not go stir crazy?”

He couldn't help but smile. She was true to the character he was beginning to know quite well, practical and proactive. It was tempting to think it was unusual for her age, but when he thought about the young Palestinian women he had come across in his work he had to admit that there were many similarities between them and Demelza. His thoughts went to Elizabeth. While he didn't want to compare her with any of the women he had known during this mission and captivity, he could clearly see she would have struggled. He was glad she was back home where she didn't have to endure what they had to.

Pulling his wandering mind back, he focused on Demelza's question. “It's possible to exercise indoors,” he began. “Both of you really should, not just because you lose your physical strength but also because it's good for your mental health,” he added. “We might be allowed outside if we're moved to another location, so don't give up hope about fresh air. I can ask for books. Perhaps some proper books for learning Arabic? I'm sure we can get some fiction too. But the most important thing is that we talk. Discuss, share things, joke, play games. It's the support we can lend each other that helps the most.”

The door opened and Dwight entered, stony-faced and stiff. Ross glanced at Demelza who wore a look of concern as she watched the doctor cross the floor as the door eased shut with a click. “Nasser is dead,” he announced, sitting between them.

Ross leaned forward, pinning Dwight with his eyes. “When did that happen? How?

Dwight squarely met Ross's look. “A little more than four weeks ago, just after we crossed the border to Syria. Heart attack.”

“Jesus,” Ross breathed and pulled back slightly, dropping his gaze to the rug next to him without noticing the pattern or the colours. He tried to wrap his head around what it would mean for the region that Nasser was dead, but his mind had gone blank. Nasser had cultivated the image as the bridge builder between various interests in the region, with mixed results. The effect of his death was difficult for Ross to predict, particularly since he had been cut off from any source of news.

“The Egyptian president is dead?” Demelza asked, her voice pitched a bit high. Ross was pulled out of his thoughts, looking up to meet her searching eyes.

“Things are certainly not dull around here right now,” Ross sighed and shook his head in disbelief. “Listen,” he continued and made certain he had both his companions’ attention. “We don't know what this will mean. It's pointless to speculate right now.” He eyed Dwight, hoping the doctor would understand the underlying message, to not scare Demelza with hyperbole.

“But there must be repercussions,” Dwight pressed on, clearly not taking in Ross’s hints. Dwight might not talk about it, but Ross knew he was fairly well-informed about the situation in the region, and was pondering the impact Nasser's death could have.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. It depends on how everyone react now. I know it isn't a reassuring answer, but I don't think we should make too much of this.” Ross waited for Dwight's acquiescence and, after a moment of hesitation, got a nod. “We should do something. Not sit around here moping,” Ross said, turning to Demelza, hoping she would take the bait. Uncertainty could fray anyone's nerves and it would be a good thing to distract her after this revelation.

The corners of Demelza's lips curved upwards. “No gymnastics for you.”

“Some physio perhaps?” Ross suggested, looking hopeful.

“All right. Some stretching. We haven't done any today yet,” Demelza agreed and slipped over the floor to Ross.

Ross and Dwight exchanged a momentary glance before Ross focussed on the exercises, hoping it was enough to distract her.

o.o.o

They were relocated twice in just over two weeks, to places cramped, damp, cold, and without facilities. Demelza was miserable. The nights were particularly difficult. They only had the clothes they had been wearing when they had been taken hostage in late September. With no opportunities to wash them or themselves, they soon were dirty and smelly. The blankets they had didn't do much to ward off the cold at night, and after a couple of days they settled in for the night together, as close as they could come to share the warmth. After a short discussion, Demelza was the one sandwiched in the middle when both Dwight and Ross had refused to budge on the matter.

They tried their best to stay positive, reminiscing about their lives up until they’d met and talking about their plans for the future. It was how she learned Ross had a fiancée waiting back home, something that didn't come as a surprise. Intelligent and handsome, even though he was a bit taciturn, it would have been odd, in her opinion, if he had been single. However, it made her feel lonely as she listened to him. Her brothers would miss her, of course, but it was different. She had no one special whose memory she could hang on to, and it was a depressing thought. Dwight quietly reminded her that he was in a similar situation, which somewhat eased her sadness.

She practised her Arabic with Ross, and Dwight joined the lessons. “It seems like a good idea to use the time for something I have use for. My Arabic could always use improvement,” he reasoned.

They were left alone for long stretches of time. Sabir and Naji had disappeared early on, leaving them with strangers, nervous young men who wouldn't answer any questions.

A week after being moved the first time, it had become clear that Ross was suffering from the worsening conditions. His progress slowed down and he slept poorly. He was wrapped up in a blanket all day, and he’d begun looking pale and drawn. He’d done his best to pretend nothing was amiss, which of course didn't fool Dwight and herself. There was little they could do though, other than repeatedly ask those guarding them for a kerosene heater and water so they could wash. Neither was granted.

November fourteenth dawned, seventeen days had passed since they left the relative comfort of their first jail. Demelza was becoming seriously worried over Ross. She watched him all day with a growing sense of helplessness, but there was no one she could turn to, not even to rage against. When they finally settled down for the night Dwight fell asleep within minutes, as was his wont. She, on the other hand, couldn't ignore Ross's restlessness and shivering. Even in the darkness Demelza could tell he was clenching his teeth to prevent them from chattering and he was tense and rigid from the cold he unsuccessfully tried to ward off.

Careful to not wake Dwight, she pushed herself up on her elbow and tucked in the blankets properly around Ross. That done, she inched closer, nudging him to move his arm so she could rest her head on his shoulder while she wrapped her arm around him. Slowly, his hand came to rest on her side, and she could sense his awkwardness. Ignoring this, she adjusted her arms and legs so they had as much contact as was possible due to his injured leg. After a few minutes, she noticed he was beginning to relax. Much to her surprise, he brought up his other arm, giving her a hug. He settled back and, after another couple of minutes, fell asleep. Demelza smiled slightly as she relished the increased warmth and the sensation of both hearing and feeling his even breathing. She soon followed him into slumber.

She had no idea how long they had been asleep when they were brusquely woken up by Sabir, blinding them with a torch and rousing them with clipped orders in Arabic. They quickly gathered blankets and the few things they had, as Naji showed up with a stretcher. Sabir and Naji carried Ross outside to a Ford Transit, Demelza and Dwight following, stumbling in the dark, before climbing inside. Neither of their original captors offered an explanation, and Demelza didn't ask. That they were back after their absence was enough and somehow reassured her that something better was about to come.

It was freezing, though, and in the faint light she noticed that she could see everyone's breath. Misery washed over her as she wrapped her thin jacket around herself, holding it in place with her arms tightly crossed over her chest and her hands in her armpits. Ross was back to shivering despite the blankets. She extracted her right hand and touched his neck with the back of her fingers. He was cool to the touch.

The van took off through the quiet streets of Damascus and, for the first time in weeks, Demelza felt real warmth hitting her back as Naji turned up the heat to maximum. They left Damascus behind, travelling in an unknown direction. Soon the entire van was deliciously warm. Ross stopped shivering and fell asleep again.

The van had no windows at the back so she couldn't see the countryside they travelled through. Not that it mattered, really; she wouldn't know where they were going even if she could look outside.

It was cramped and uncomfortable, but nevertheless Demelza dozed off where she sat. She was jolted out of her sleep several times, as the road conditions worsened. Dwight eventually coaxed her to recline, leaning against him while he held her where he sat, propped up against some boxes behind Naji's seat. She fell asleep instantly. When she woke up, they were in Lebanon, slowly driving through the early morning streets of Beirut.

o.o.o

Much to Demelza's relief, they were put up in a proper house somewhere in West Beirut. It was a bit impractical, as old houses tend to be. On the whole, it was a fairly nice place, at least in comparison to what they had seen the past weeks in Damascus. It had kerosene heaters and furniture, including proper beds, chairs and tables. There was no family living here. Instead it was a hideout where the more important leaders of the Fedayeen came and went. This meant Demelza, Dwight and Ross were allowed to move around in the house more, and even go outside, to the enclosed yard.

They got clothes on their arrival, civilian attire better suited for the oncoming winter, and were allowed to wash themselves. Ross looked better within days and lost the drawn look on his face since he ate more and slept through the night. Sabir and Naji helped him around so he got to see more. Sometimes he was put in an armchair in the yard, where he sat for half an hour or so with his leg propped up, simply breathing.

Unlike in Damascus, Sabir and Naji seemed to be on a schedule looking after them, which gave Demelza a sense of security because of the familiarity with these two young men. Slowly a tentative friendship began to spire between them too. Dwight agreed to treat people who couldn't seek medical help at the official clinics -- for various reasons -- that gained their respect. Demelza's efforts in learning Arabic wore them down too, especially Sabir. Ross kept to himself, not because of some sense of arrogance, but because he didn't expect any forgiveness from the Fedayeen.

It began to change after one afternoon he had spent outdoors in the enclosed yard together with Sabir. Demelza spotted them through a window engrossed in a serious discussion and -- after that -- Sabir often joined Ross when he was outdoors. When she asked what they were talking about, Ross would only smile and shake his head, revealing nothing.

Though it still was a prison, it felt less and less like they were in a hostile environment. Aside from cooking, the three of them almost always did things together: reading books, playing cards and other games when they’d grown tired of cards.

However, they didn't know much about what was going on in the outside world. They had no radio, no television and only on occasion were they allowed to read an old newspaper in English.

Throughout their time together, Demelza had noticed Ross had a somewhat uneven temper, with a tendency to fall silent and seem like he was far away in his mind, visiting unpleasant memories. He could laugh and enjoy himself, but he had a darker side. When his moods struck, he was abrupt and harsh, seeking solitude as best he could.

Her courage bolstered by Dwight’s encouraging words, she set out to lighten Ross’s mood to keep him from lingering on bad memories. He remained hesitant to talk about some topics, claiming he couldn't reveal anything, but on occasion they had philosophical discussions about certain incidents she suspected had happened to him.

Dwight pulled his weight in distracting Ross from himself, mostly through intellectual debates. Sometimes she paused to watch the two men she shared her current life with, so different from herself. Dwight was without a doubt the best educated while Ross came from a more wealthy family. They shared a lot, not just age and similar upbringing and schooling. She should have felt like an outsider when they conversed, but they often paused to explain things to her.

They never made her feel inferior or dumb in their company.

She already knew Dwight enjoyed her company, and they had indeed been friends ever since she arrived in the Middle East. While Ross never said so, she could tell that he liked her company too.

Both encouraged her to broaden her horizons and go beyond what was considered necessary for someone with her background and occupation. Dwight took it upon himself to further her education, was the chief negotiator with Sabir and Naji. Soon, books about history and natural sciences began to show up.

Dwight and Ross had conversations about political theory and modern politics. Demelza, who never had been very interested in either, now found she listened with a lot more curiosity to them than any teacher she’d had before. Eventually, she grew more confident and joined in with reflections and questions.

If they hadn't been locked up it would have been one of the happiest times in her life.

The only one ever let out into the outside world was Dwight, though it was rare and always under escort. It was during those occasions they were all reminded that there was, in fact, a real threat to their lives. She and Ross were always locked up in the same room, along with an armed guard, until Dwight’s return. The implication was clear: if Dwight attempted to escape, Demelza and Ross would die.

Closing in on Christmas, Dwight was once again called away, escorted by Naji, looking pained. None of them looked forward to these days. She knew Dwight would worry about them while he was gone. Ross would never be comfortable with her taking over some tasks in Dwight's absence, and on these occasions it was made worse by the lack of proper toilet facilities. With the tangible threat in the room, both she and Ross were quiet and agitated. She did her tasks when needed and Ross flushed, clearly stiff and uncomfortable. Her efforts effort to lighten the situation was apparently not appreciated by him, so she lapsed into silence.

The hours ticked by, darkness fell and she noticed that the weather took a turn for the worse. Rain was hammering down on the windows and gusts of wind drove it vertically from time to time. She tried to immerse herself in the book she had brought, but the fall of the British Empire couldn't hold her attention for any length of time. Ross had closed his eyes but she could tell that he wasn't asleep as his breathing was too light and uneven. Sometimes a gust of wind that increased the rattle on the glass would lure him to open his eyes but they closed again within moments.

The evening grew late and she gave up on the book. Ross seemed to give up on keeping his eyes closed too. Restlessly she rose and walked over to the window to look out. The room was facing a yard and there wasn't much to see when it was dark outside and with a sigh she turned her back to it and looked at the other two people in the room. Ross was staring at some point on the ceiling while the guard was fighting to stay awake on his chair.

She walked over to the guard and put her hand on his shoulder, starting him.

“You were falling asleep,” she said mildly.

From the armchair came a question put to the guard in Arabic, and she understood that Ross had asked if there were no one to relieve him. The guard groused, embarrassment making him angry, telling Ross to mind his own business.

“Suit yourself,” Ross said in English and shrugged, turning his attention back to the spot on the ceiling.

“Stand up. Walk around. It helps,” Demelza said to the guard in Arabic and smiled before returning to her chair.

She wanted to go to bed, not sit here with these two surly men. With an annoyed sigh she turned to scrutinise Ross.

“Ross, how did they find out you worked for MI6?” she asked. She had been meaning to ask him ever since they became hostages, but the words somehow always got stuck on their way out.

Slowly he turned his head to look at her and then darted a quick glance at the guard who seemed completely uninterested in what they were talking about. “I don't know.” He smiled joylessly. “I suspect it was someone from within the organisation who leaked the information. I thought they would shoot me, not keep me hostage. I'm hardly a civilian after all.”

She nodded. “But... do you have any suspicions at all?” she pressed on.

“Maybe,” he replied and sighed. “If I could contact people back home, I could ask my cousin Verity to do some quiet investigation. She also works for the Service, though at the headquarter in London.”

Demelza looked thoughtful and turned her gaze to the black hole that the window was. The weather seemed to get progressively worse. “Did she know what you were doing here?”

“If it's not something you're involved in, you have no business in knowing. So no. She didn't know. If my superiors know anything about my current situation, she won't know either. Everyone at home probably only knows I'm missing.”

They were quiet for a while and Demelza noticed that he studied her in the corner of his eye.

“I know how to keep quiet,” she suddenly said, trying to put her thoughts into words, and turned to fix her eye on him.

He nodded. “I know.”

“So does Dwight.” She angled her head.

Warily he met her gaze. “What are you thinking about, Demelza?” he asked, suspicion lining his voice.

She shrugged. “Just thought you should know. I'm a nurse and we have a code of conduct, which includes not discussing sensitive information. This is a special situation, but not that much of a difference really.”

He gave her a long look that made her feel like he saw right through her. “I just want you to know that I can keep confidence,” she tried to explain. When he didn't answer, she cleared her throat and forced herself to smile. “Did Dwight inform you about the next stage in your recovery before he left?” she continued, changing the subject. “You haven't mentioned anything.”

He shook his head.

“We believe it's time for you to get on your feet properly.” She allowed real excitement crept into her voice and her smile seemed to put a spark into his eyes and the corners of his lips pulled up. “Crutches first of course, but gradually the aim is to get rid of them. Christmas will bring at least some mobility for you.”

The smile she had managed to coax out of him faded and his face closed off once more, leaving her confused and concerned.

“Ross, what's wrong?” she asked and put her hand on his arm. His eyes went to her hand and then he quickly moved his arm. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand back and averted her eyes. She hadn't meant anything by it other than sympathy but it was clearly pushing it with Ross this evening.

“What do you think?” he snapped, but the next moment he seemed to regret his outburst. “I'm sorry Demelza,” he hurried to say. “It's not your fault and I shouldn't take out my frustration on you.”

“I had hoped you'd be pleased,” she told him quietly and stared down at her hands that were safely resting in her lap.

“It'll be nice to be able to use my legs and feet again. It's just that...” He sighed and shook his head. “This is difficult. I'm a cripple and I might not recover fully. And I miss my family and... Elizabeth,” he admitted.

She raised her eyes. This was an unusual candour shown by him and while she had to admit that she perhaps wasn't that interested in that fiancée of his, he clearly needed to talk about her. He had mentioned her back in Damascus, but he hadn't revealed much about her as a person and a reluctant curiosity gripped her.

“What's she like?” Demelza asked, angling her head just a bit out of habit.

Ross smiled slightly, his eyes softening. She felt a sting of envy, then embarrassment over her reaction.

“She's not as tall as you though she's not short, her hair is a glossy brown, and she has blue eyes. Slender. Graceful. Quite beautiful.” He paused. “She's quick in comprehension. Well educated. I don't think I have ever seen her lose her temper. She's... kind. Considerate.” He went silent again and looked away. “I love her.”

Demelza once more turned her eyes downwards while her fingers were worrying the edge of the sleeve of the blouse she was wearing.

“I can see why you miss her,” Demelza said, looked up and smiled. It was a polite smile. There was little else she could offer because she had never met the woman, after all. She had to take him on his word. Though he hadn't made any comparison between them, other than the height, she couldn't help but feel she wasn't one to measure up to that kind of standard and it made her inexplicably sad.

“You're not missing anyone at home?” he asked in return. “You haven't said much more about your family other than a few things about your brothers.”

She was startled by his question and shot him a stare before she ducked her head with a scowl forming that she tried to hide from him. “I prefer not to speak much about that.”

He winced, leaned over and reached out, catching her hand. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you,” he said earnestly, looking apologetically at her.

For a moment her eyes went to their hands, then she looked up and vigorously shook her head. “No, no. I just don't enjoy spending time with my family, that's all. Or, with dad rather. Mum... died some years back. It's why I became a nurse really.” She drew a deep breath. “I miss my brothers, but I think it's best for everyone involved if I'm not around.” She glanced down at their joined hands again. “There's no one else,” she murmured, feeling pathetically lonely.

He nodded, pressed her hand and then let it go. “And now you're locked up here.” He sounded regretful and she knew he experienced guilt because she and Dwight had become hostages along with him, just because they had the misfortune of being the medical people available at the time.

Her heart swelled a bit. He was not always easy to deal with, but he was considerate in his own way. She smiled reassuringly at him. “I think it's worse for you than for me.” She shrugged at his questioning look. “I was not deprived of much, coming here like this. I'd like to go out sometimes, but it's not so bad. You and Dwight are kind. We've become friends. Life can be a bit boring, boxed in, but...” She shrugged again. “Life back home isn't better.”

“I wish I could be that philosophical,” he said quietly.

Demelza's smile turned into a smirk. “Well, you're the one confined to beds and chairs. Besides, it's not particularly philosophical. I just wasn't deprived of much.”

Ross was about to reply when a knock on the door announced a very tired Dwight. He was soaked from the rain but he still looked pleased.

“Boredom has yet to kill you, it seems,” he said, directing himself to Ross.

Ross returned the smile. “Almost, but not quite.”

“The British Empire's post-war economic issues almost did,” Demelza complained good-naturedly as she picked up the volume and waved it at Dwight.

Dwight nodded. “I'm glad to hear nothing of importance happened while I was gone. I'd hate to miss out.”

Demelza snorted and quickly rose from her chair, then rounded the armchair Ross was sitting in. “I'll leave you then, yeah?” She smiled widely at Dwight, pressed his arm briefly as she passed him and exited the room quickly. The guard followed her and closed the door behind them.

...

When Demelza had vanished, Ross groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Jesus Dwight. There is no one who can put a foot in their mouth like I can.”

Dwight smile turned into a chuckle and he arched his eyebrows as he walked over to the chair Demelza had vacated. “I think you may be a bit hard on yourself.”

“No, Dwight.” Shame made him almost squirm in his seat and for a moment wished there was something he could kick or throw nearby. “First I snapped at her for bringing good news and then I was insensitive enough to ask about her family. I should have understood what her silence on the matter implied! Her mum died, probably in some disease and I don't know what's wrong with her dad but they're not on speaking terms.”

“If she chose to tell you, I'm fairly certain it's not the end of the world,” Dwight said calmly, lacing his fingers over his belly and stretching his legs in front of him. “And I take it you apologised for snapping?”

Ross nodded. “Of course I did. She really doesn't deserve to have to deal with my foul mood.”

Dwight gave him another tired smile. “This is Demelza we're talking about. She won't judge and she's quick to forgive when an apology is heartfelt.”

“You're not helping,” Ross grumbled. “I feel like even more of a bastard now.”

Shaking his head, Dwight leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. “I take it the good news she told you was about getting you on your feet?”

“It was, yeah. It'll be lovely.” A note of relief wormed its way into Ross's voice. He _was_ relieved, even if he was apprehensive too. Just how much mobility would he lose in the end because of his injury?

“Thought so.” Dwight pushed off the chair and stretched slightly. “Good to hear you didn't have a horrible day at least.”

“It's a matter of interpretation, I suppose,” Ross groused.

Dwight chuckled and shook his head. “Let's get you back to the bedroom, all right?”

“Yes, after sitting around all day doing absolutely nothing, I'm exhausted,” Ross sighed and began inching himself forward, preparing to be moved out of the room.

“Cheer up! You'll be allowed on your feet tomorrow. You have a challenge before you, that much I can tell you.” Dwight stood and crossed the floor, opened the door and called for help to move Ross to their sleeping quarters.

Ross's face darkened, and he stared down at the injured leg, still propped up in front of him.

 


End file.
